


By Force

by EllieAustin



Category: Peter Pan & Related Fandoms, Peter Pan - J. M. Barrie
Genre: Angst, Gen, Minor Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-15
Updated: 2017-02-15
Packaged: 2018-09-24 18:32:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 24,586
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9779300
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EllieAustin/pseuds/EllieAustin
Summary: Mr Darling is not pleased to discover Peter Pan has returned to kidnapp his children again. This time he takes matters into his own hands.





	

Chapter 1

No light emanated from the silent room. The star dust bounced off the glass of the closed window, and reflected back the outside world, so that nothing of the nursery could be seen. 

Peter caught sight of his own reflection as he hovered before the house. Floating closer, his nose touched the cool glass, and he shielded his eyes with his hand as his breath fogged. There was no movement, but he could just distinguish the shapes; a wardrobe, a table, a bed, the subtle, still lump of its sleeper. Wendy.

The nightlights had blown themselves out, but the nursery door was ajar, and a crack of light seeped in. Peter stayed until he was sure it was safe, then gently rapped at the window.

Wendy’s eyes crept open, foggy and blind. When she had adjusted to the dim room, she quickly remembered what had woken her. She sat up suddenly, awake now, and shot to the window. There she beheld her dearest, most-missed friend: Peter Pan. He shot her a sly grin through the glass, and waited patiently while she fumbled with the lock.

The night poured in and brought the boy with it. Wendy locked him in a hug that he did not resist, and beamed at him, teary-eyed and ecstatic. 

“Peter. Why have you been so long? How are you?” Peter continued to gaze at her for some moments before giving his answers.

“Hello Wendy. I’m sorry... but I didn’t know I was that long. How long was I?” His face fell into a strong expression of difficult thought, as he pondered his own question.

“Far too long!” and she embraced him again.

Nana’s furious bark reverberated through the house. Peter and Wendy jumped apart, and stared at one another, shocked. The sound of barking was immediately replaced with the din of heavy footfalls bounding up the stairs.

Instead of employing the sensible option and flying out the window, Peter dived under the bed, reluctant to leave Wendy so soon. The girl came to her senses and clambered under her bedclothes just as the nursery door burst open, and Mr Darling raced into the room.

Heading straight for the window, George gasped as he saw it gaping wide. He ran to the ledge, leaning out as far as he could, and shouted for his wife.

“Mary!” Mrs Darling entered almost immediately, having been rushing to catch up with her husband since he had bolted from her side.

In a moment she had surveyed the room; George precarious on the window ledge, her three children nestled sweetly in their beds...  
“What is it, George? What’s wrong?” Mary was somewhat taken aback to see the panic and fear in her husband’s eyes. He was out of breath, his chest heaving, and as he turned to her, his eyes darted about the nursery, and he too noticed the little dears, all fast asleep.

Michael wriggled and rubbed the sleep from his eyes as he was pulled from his dreams. John too felt reality return to him, and both boys sat up in bed, blinking at the sight of their parents.

“What’s the matter?” slurred Michael. His mother gently rushed to him and sat before him on his bed.

“Nothing, angel. I’m sorry we woke you. Go back to sleep.” And she planted a soft kiss on the child’s forehead as he sank back into the sheets.

Wendy, a poor liar, feigned a yawn and pulled her heavy body up in bed. “Mother. Father. Is anything the matter?” she cooed, with a look of innocent bewilderment.

“No, darling. Nana just thought she heard a noise, and we came to check on you... Did you hear a noise?”

“A noise? Why, no! Poor Nana... it must be her age.” Wendy answered, all too excitedly. But to her relief, her parents seemed satisfied, and headed for the nursery door.

Chapter 2

Peter watched soberly as the feet of the grown-ups crossed the floor on either side of him. He felt constricted in the confined space, and suppressed the urge to move and find a more comfortable position.

A pang of horror stabbed at him as he heard the window close, the sound punctuated with the click of the lock sliding into place. 

Peter flew up, forgetting where he was for a split-second; but that was all it took, and he stifled a cry as his head connected solidly with Wendy’s bed.

Wendy almost shrieked as she heard the bump, her eyes widening in concern. To her dismay, the noise had not escaped the ears of her parents, and in a pathetic attempt to conceal her friend’s presence, she sneezed.

His attention drawn towards his daughter, Mr Darling's eye caught another movement... from under the bed. A foot was just visible, and George leapt at it.

Sudden panic consumed Peter as he felt the strong grasp around his ankle. Throwing caution to the wind, he kicked blindly, screaming from shock.

Mr Darling was resolute, and would not let go of the wriggling leg. In a passionate effort, he tugged the boy from his hiding-place, ignoring the kicks, hits, and hisses, and dragged him to his feet.

Man and boy stared at each other for a moment. Peter broke the gaze first, bolting for the window. He froze in horror when he saw the way was barred, the window closed. Mr Darling was already upon him, and in a fit of range, grabbed the boy roughly by his matted hair. Peter screamed in pain, and Mrs Darling’s heart broke.

Wendy, John, and Michael joined their mother as she ran to Peter’s aid and placed a firm hand on her husband’s shoulder. 

“George!” Her concerned tone was tainted with anger and fear. “George! What’s come over you? Let go of him at once!”

Mr Darling faltered as he looked into the appalled eyes of his wife. The softening of his grip was all Peter needed; he pulled the man’s hand from his head, turned, and thrust his knee into George’s stomach with all his might, before fleeing to the opposite side of the room.

Mary and her sons gasped and Wendy screamed as the blow was struck and George Darling buckled forward in agony. Grasping his throbbing gut with one arm, he raised his head to see Peter several feet away, smiling. Fury filled him then, and he raced towards the boy.

Peter was surprised by the man’s speed, but inched from his grip and bolted; jumping over beds and knocking over furniture, Peter did his best to avoid the wrathful adult, even throwing books and toys when he could, but George was determined. Ignoring the shouts and pleas of his family, he continued to chase the youth about the nursery, his outrage and intent growing with every step.

Peter pulled his attention back to the window: his escape. He sped towards it, and desperately tried to pry it open. Without his consent, his distress culminated with tears that blurred his eyes; but he continued to flail, scratch, and kick at the window frame with determined desperation.

Within moments he felt the fierce hold of Mr Darling tighten painfully around his waist. He was hoisted off his feet and swung around to face the apprehensive faces of Mrs Darling and her children.

Mary stared, perplexed, at her husband. He seemed like a man possessed; never had she seen him act so violently or roughly, especially towards a child.

Peter refused to be beaten, and continued to struggle; kicking and screaming, biting and scratching, anything to wriggle from the man’s grasp. But George held firm, tightening his hold until Peter felt his chest heave for air, and his ribs scream in pain.

“Mary, call the police!”

“The police? George, what’s come over you?”  
“Just do it!” Mr Darling’s eyes blazed, and even he was shocked with the harsh tone of his voice. Mary’s face smoothed into a resolute gaze, and she stood her ground. 

“Fine, then. I’ll do it!” he spat, and carried Peter to the nursery door.

Wendy and her brothers continued to beg and cry as they followed Mr Darling along the corridor and down the stairs. Peter found his feet again, and tried in vain to pull from Mr Darling’s solid grasp. His feet scraped the floor as he tried to resist, and he kept losing his footing on the stairs, falling beneath Mr Darling’s heavy steps.

George finally managed to wrestle Peter to the ground floor, and the telephone. He picked up the earpiece, and realised he had no hands free to dial the numbers. Clamping the panicked child to his side with one arm, he succeeded in dialling for the operator.

“George, you are being unreasonable! You don’t even know who this boy is!” Mary stood as close to her husband as possible, forcing him to take notice of her.

Mr Darling gaped at her, disbelievingly. “What does it matter who he is? He’s in my house!” George shook the infuriating child, trying to still his unending struggles, but Peter was merely panicked further, and he began wailing and biting at George’s arm. 

“Father, please!” Wendy chocked back her sobs, but could not gain control of her tears. “Father, you’re hurting him!” She tugged at Mr Darling, but he took no notice. 

He heard the call connect. “Be quiet, all of you!” the fray did lessen, all but Peter ceasing to shout, and Mr Darling managed to stifle the boy’s growls with a hand to his mouth.

“Yes, I’d like to report an intruder. Yes... I found a boy in my house.”

“George, please.” Mary gently placed a beseeching hand on his arm.

“I have him now... yes... Could you send someone as quickly as possible? Thank you. No... No, I’ll be sure to keep hold of him until you arrive. Good.” Silence cut through George as he replaced the receiver. The eyes of his family were all fixed on him, holding expressions of disbelief and even contempt.

Peter continued his fight for freedom, but panicked still more as he found himself thrust into a lightless cupboard, the door slamming shut, the sound of a key turning in the lock. Now free from physical restraint, Peter released all his efforts in an attempt to open that door; He thumped on it with bruising fists, and kicked at it until he felt pain shoot through his toes. And all the while he screamed at the top of his voice, shouting every insult he could conjure, until his throat stung and his voice croaked.

For Peter it seemed like an eternity, locked in the small, pitch-black room. He had just resorted to using his head to break through the door, when he once again heard the key in the lock, and all at once, harsh light stabbed at his eyes.

Chapter 3

Although his vision was blurry, Peter fixed the dark silhouette of the figure with a deep scowl. Thinking it Mr Darling, he had bolted to the very back of the cupboard, and every muscle in his body tensed at the prospect of another battle.

But it was not Mr Darling who beheld the fierce, frightened boy backed into a corner; Detective Inspector Charles Webster was not in the habit of accompanying Officers on this sort of disturbance, but by chance he had been one of only two men available, and was obliged to attend.

He could see that the boy (suspected thief) was agitated and still very much worked up, but he was eager to get home to his bed, considering the lateness of the hour, and so was keen to have this business completed quickly.

“Alright... out you come, lad.” He opened the cupboard door a little wider, but kept his eyes fixed on the boy.

Peter faltered at the slight gesture, and the man’s calm voice and authoritative air. He relaxed ever so slightly, but did not move. Webster gestured again with his head, but when this failed he decided on a more straightforward approach.

Peter screamed and tried to get the man to let go of his arm. He knew grown-ups were dangerous, but he had not reckoned on them all being so aggressive. He was sure he could feel his arm bruising.

Out of the cupboard and into the hallway, Peter was surprised to find himself released. He stood, poised to run, and took in the people around him; behind the man stood Wendy’s father, anger still filling his face. Further still, his Lost Boys, Wendy, and Wendy’s mother stood together with worried expressions. And there was another man too, dressed all in dark blue and wearing a domed helmet.

“Now, lad...” Peter’s eyes returned to the man addressing him, and he scowled. “Hear you’ve been breaking and entering... trying to rob these good people blind, were ya? That’s a bad lot, that is.” Webster paused for a moment, waiting for the boy to plead his innocence. When the boy said nothing, he continued. 

“You working for someone, boy? Got an accomplice? In a gang, are ya?” Webster gave an exasperated sigh at the boy’s stubborn silence. Apparently he was not going to peach on whoever put him up to this.

Webster waited a few moments more for the boy to respond, then turned to the Officer standing by the front door. “Alright, Mills... Take him away.” 

At the sight of the man purposefully walking towards him, Peter made a dash for the stairs. But the hallway was too narrow to avoid the man, and Peter once again found himself restrained by strong hands. 

“Let go of me!” He thrashed and jerked to no avail, tears escaping down his cheeks. As he was roughly manoeuvred towards the front door, Peter remembered Wendy and the boys, and looked at them with pleading eyes. “Wendy! Please! Help me! Wendy... Don’t let them take me! I’m sorry! Wendy...” 

And with that, Peter was pulled out of the house and into the dark street as Wendy watched, powerless.

“Mother...” she turned beseechingly to the woman, tears in both their eyes. “Please!” Mrs Darling beheld her daughter, incapable of consoling her. But her child’s desperate expression moved her to action, and followed by her brood, she hurried out into the street.

Mills was having great difficulty in wrestling Peter into the back of the police carriage; Webster was watching disapprovingly, as Mr Darling stepped forward to help. 

“George...” Mary’s voice was firm, but contained a quiver of passion and a hint of the betrayal she felt. Mr Darling turned to his wife, leaving Mills to tackle Peter’s determination. “George, this is not right. I cannot permit myself to stand idly by as you send a child to prison! You have not even given him a chance to explain himself. It is obvious that the children know him!”

“I know exactly who this boy is!” George’s reply was so ferocious, so full of spite that Mary gasped in surprise; but she immediately regained her composure and her resolve. Mr Darling checked himself after his outburst, and continued in as calm and reasonable manner as he could muster.

“That boy is the demon who stole our children. And now he has returned to spirit them away again... but I shall not stand for it!” Mary’s anger towards her husband softened as she took in his words. It had always been a happy marriage because of their perfect understanding of one another, and she understood now that George was desperately trying to protect his children.

“George... He’s just a boy.” She gently took his hand in hers. “And I know that if you continue in this persecution of him, you will not be able to forgive yourself.” Mr Darling’s gaze dropped to the floor. His shoulders slouched as he admitted defeat. “Please, George.”

Composed into his upright posture once more, Mr Darling, resolute, turned on his heel and almost marched towards the Detective Inspector. “I am afraid, Inspector...” George almost choked with embarrassment, his voice breaking slightly, “there seems to have been a misunderstanding. My wife and I would like to deal with this boy ourselves. It appears he is a friend of our own children.” 

Webster fixed him with a suspicious stare, but did not argue. “Well, I can’t force you to press charges, sir... but I wouldn’t want my kiddies mixing with a lad like that, if you don’t mind my saying so, sir.”

“No, nor I. But I would like to resolve the situation myself.”

“Right you are, sir. Mills... get the boy out.” Mills bit back the urge to argue, or faint, having just this minute finally managed to get the boy in! Trying to catch his breath, he flippantly opened the carriage door.

Chapter 4

George Darling sat rigidly in his armchair, a glass of whiskey in one hand, and snatched another glance at the grubby, retched boy sitting on the sofa. Each time Peter felt Mr Darling’s gaze return to him, he made sure to lock eyes with the man; He had to be on his guard. Although Mr Darling had not touched the boy since he was brought back into the house, Peter knew better than to think he was safe.

He fought back another wave of panic, feeling more and more uncomfortable, alone in the presence of the man. The Lost Boys had been shooed back to bed, and Wendy was helping her mother gather pillows and blankets for Peter.

Pan had been expecting some sort of interrogation once left alone with Mr Darling, but instead the man just sat there, silent. Peter noticed he looked more sad than angry, but this did nothing to diminish the boy's fear.

Although he would be loathed to admit it, Peter was indeed terrified of the man; or rather, of his apparent unpredictable and violent behaviour. Peter was, understandably, severely shaken by the ordeal of being attacked and imprisoned, and he was still disorientated. This increased his anxiety further, and now, left alone with his former attacker, Peter struggled against his feelings of distress.

“Here you are, Peter.” Pan almost jumped at the sudden reappearance of Mary Darling, Wendy at her heels. They both carried pillows and thick blankets, which they presently deposited on the Drawing Room floor. “I’m sorry you have to sleep down here tonight, but there’s not much room left upstairs.” He acknowledged her with his eyes, but did not speak or move. Wendy bounced onto the sofa and wriggled up to Peter, and he flashed her a quick smile.

“All the Lost Boys are packed in like sardines!” He smiled again at the sound of her giggles, but kept up his guard.

“Well... if you have everything you need, Peter... I think we all ought to go to bed. Wendy, that means you, too.” Wendy began to protest, but her mother took little notice.

Peter’s eyes followed her anxiously as she hugged him, kissed her parents goodnight, and skipped from the room. 

To Peter’s immense relief, Mr Darling sprang from his chair and marched into the hall, and once she had made up the sofa, and smiled sweetly at the boy, Mrs Darling followed her husband out.

“Goodnight, Peter.” She said softly from the doorway. “Sleep tight.” And she gently closed the door.

Out in the hallway, Mr Darling retrieved an aged, brass key from a drawer in a side table, and pushed it into the lock of the Drawing Room door.

“George?” Mary turned back when she noticed her husband had not followed her to the stairs, an expression of confusion on her pretty face. “You’re not locking him in, are you? Is that really necessary?”

Mr Darling’s face remained dark, and he did not look at her. “As long as you insist on letting that boy sleep in my house, you could at least respect my responsibility to protect my family.” Mrs Darling furrowed her brows, but she no longer had the strength to disagree with him and began to ascend the stairs.

Peter heard a key turn in the lock.

Like a bolt of lightning, he was on his feet and across the room to confirm what he had heard. Trying the doorknob and finding the door unyielding to his efforts, Peter’s feelings of panic spilled over, and he began to hammer desperately against the unshakable oak-wood.

“Let me out! Please... Let me out! Wendy!” Peter battered against the door with all his might, but it barely even wobbled. Peter tried to scream louder, but his throat was still painful from his earlier cries for help, and his voice was already cracking.

“George, give me the key.” Mr Darling was staring at his feet, like a naughty schoolboy. He could not look his wife in the eye. “George... the key!” Mr Darling reluctantly opened his hand, revealing the key, gleaming in his palm. Mary snatched it from him, rather harshly, but she had had enough of her husband’s childish behaviour.

Before she could insert the key into the lock, both grown-ups were frozen by the sound of breaking glass that came crashing to their ears. Mrs Darling unlocked the door, and both she and her husband burst into the room.

Peter was crumpled on the floor, nursing a bloody hand; in sheer panic, he had sent his fist through the window in an effort to escape the room. Struggling to control his breath, he blinked up at Mr and Mrs Darling as they entered, his chest heaving, and on looking back down at his stinging hand, felt a surge of pain, and could not hold back the tears.

Mr Darling acted first. He went from the room and proceeded to telephone for a doctor. Mrs Darling beheld the tearful boy for one more shocked and selfish moment, and then hurried to his side, crouching down and whispering sweet words of comfort. She was careful not to touch his damaged hand, but put one arm around his shoulders, and was relieved to feel him press closer to her.

By this time, the other children, all woken once more by the smashing window, cascaded down the stairs and into the hall, just in time to see their father replace the telephone receiver. Wendy was at the front of the rabble;

“Father? What’s happened? We all heard a great noise...” Mr Darling sighed, displeased to have to tell his children of the boy’s actions, for fear he himself would receive the blame.

“I have just telephoned for a doctor. Your friend had a little accident.” He winced as he saw Wendy’s eyes widen and her mouth drop. Much the same expression was repeated in the faces of her brothers.

“Peter? Is he alright?” ventured Tootles. He was a shy but loving child. 

“He’ll be fine. Now, back to bed, all of you.” There were worried sighs and fearful glances to one another, but the boys slowly drifted upstairs and back to their beds. “Wendy... Go to bed. I will tell you what the doctor says in the morning.” The little girl stared at her father. Was it a scowl or a look of disappointment? Either way, it was what George had feared; That boy was turning his daughter against him.

Chapter 5

Dr Leighton was a young but skilled physician; although in his thirties, he was considered a mere youth by many of the medical profession. He was renowned for his compassionate bedside-manner, and generosity towards the poorer classes. This had led him to become quite a celebrity in his field, and of course, the popular choice of high society. 

He was favoured by all of the Darling’s neighbours, so naturally, they favoured him too. 

He arrived at number 14 as quickly as he could manage; sympathetic as he was to his fellow man, and so eager to help, he thought nothing of making a house call so late at night.

Leighton was admitted by Mr Darling, and shown into the Drawing Room, where he beheld his patient; Peter was still sitting on the floor, huddled over his bleeding hand. Mrs Darling had not left his side, and was whispering calming words in his ear. She looked up as the two men entered, and welcomed the Doctor with a brief nod and a worried smile, but she did not get up.

Dr Leighton made himself comfortable, cross-legged on the floor next to Peter. The boy did nothing to acknowledge his presence.

“Right then, young man...” Leighton began, reaching for Peter’s wounded hand. As he made contact, the boy screamed and violently scrambled away. He locked eyes with the man, just then noticing he was there, and fear flooded his mind once more.

“I’m not going to hurt you...” Leighton soothed. He slowly reached for Peter’s hand once again. “I just need to see what you’ve managed to do to yourself.” Pan shot daggers at the man, highly suspicious of his intentions, but reluctantly allowed him to inspect his wound.

“Gosh, you have been in the wars, haven’t you!” Peter did not understand this turn of phrase, but said nothing, watching the man’s every move, poised to get away if he became a danger.

Pan hissed and kept pulling away throughout the Doctor’s examination, but was lulled by the efforts of both Mrs Darling and Leighton, combined. Their labours were increased as the Doctor began the painstaking task of removing every shard of glass from the child’s flesh, an ordeal that nearly sent Peter into a frenzy on its commencement. 

Through all this, Mr Darling stood back by the door, and observed. He had truly been shocked and worried when he saw what the boy had done, but now his old fears were creeping back into his head, and he resolved to keep the child at a distance, from himself and his children.

Peter struggled with the stinging pain, but would not cry; instead he screamed and shouted, and even threw insults at the man who was helping him. But Peter did not care... He just wanted to go home.

“There... that’s all of them.” Dr Leighton continued to speak as he gently cleaned and bandaged the boy’s hand. “It would be best to take him to the hospital tomorrow, just so they can keep an eye on things.”

“Will he have to stay there?” Mary inquired, fearfully.

“Oh, no. I shouldn’t think so.” His tone changed to a more cheerful one as he regarded Peter. “And just make sure you don’t punch any more windows, young man, all right? I don’t want to have to see you again for some time, understand?” Peter looked at the man, but said nothing. He frowned down at his now-bandaged hand, and carried on staring at it until Dr Leighton had got up to leave.

Leighton turned to Mrs Darling, removing a pill bottle from his case. “You can give him two of these to help him sleep if it’s too painful... otherwise, that’s all I can do for him here.”

“Thank you so much, Doctor. I truly appreciate you coming here so late, and at such short notice.”

“Oh, think nothing of it. If you’d prefer, I can come back in a week to check his progress and settle the fee?”

“Yes, that would be most kind.” Mary dropped a slight curtsy, and watched as George shook Leighton’s hand and showed him to the door.

The Doctor gone, Mary fixed her husband with a hurt expression, and turned back to Peter. “Come along, angel... you can sleep in the nursery tonight.”

“Mary, I...”

Mrs Darling cut George off with a dark scowl, one that he had never received from her before. He wanted desperately to protest, but was terrified of the ramifications. All he could do was watch as his wife helped that wicked boy climb the stairs. 

Chapter 6

As the next day dawned, Wendy was relieved to see her Peter was still there, sleeping soundly on the bed that had been made up for him on the nursery floor. She had been convinced he would have flown back to Neverland, given the slightest opportunity, but it seemed he was too exhausted to go anywhere just then.

Crawling to his side, Wendy slipped beneath his blanket and gazed at his peaceful face.

“Wendy? Is he alright?” came the hushed voice of Michael, from where he sat on his bed.

“We should wake him up; It’s time for breakfast.” remarked John, getting up and moving towards Peter and Wendy’s spot on the floor. Wendy glared up at him, protectively pushing herself up with her arms. 

“You will do no such thing!” Her voice was stern, but whispered. “He needs to sleep. I expect his hand is hurting terribly.” Cautiously, she wriggled away from him and stood. Beckoning to her brothers to follow quietly, all three left the nursery, Wendy softly closing the door behind them.

Peter’s eyes briefly flickered open as he listened to them go; he could just make out the faint sound of their footfalls on the stairs as they descended through the house.

His hand throbbed uncomfortably, and he could feel the stinging return with each involuntary movement. He tried to remain perfectly still, and fall back to sleep, preferring the darkness of unconsciousness, but this was not easy with a constant pain that was difficult to ignore.

Thankfully, though, after thoughts of sunny days in Neverland, and adventures with the Indians and Pirates, Peter finally slipped back into his dreams.

Mary crept quietly into the room and rested her gaze on the sleeping boy. It was now mid-afternoon, and although she would prefer to let Peter sleep, she was also anxious he should be seen at the hospital, as Dr Leighton had advised.

“Peter?” She rapped gently on the door as she softly called his name. “Peter. It’s time to get up.” His sleeping form remained still, but his breathing seemed to shallow. She walked gracefully across the room and knelt down beside him. After a moment or two, she reached out and gently started to stroke his hair, humming soothingly beneath her breath.

Remembering himself, Peter shot up, holding up his damaged hand as a shield, warding her back. “Don’t touch me!” he shouted. “I mustn’t be touched!”

Mary gazed at him, a shocked expression on her face. It took her several moments to process his sudden reaction, but eventually her features calmed, and she sat back on her heels. 

When Peter realised Mrs Darling had no intention of leaving, he looked up at her with a suspicious frown. “What do you want?” His tone was harsh, as he had intended it to be, but Mary’s calm reaction was not what he had expected; she smiled at him, sweetly, and for a second he could see her resemblance to Wendy.

“It’s time to go to the hospital.” Peter’s brow furrowed quizzically.

“What’s a hospital?” His voice was now full of childish curiosity, but his scowl soon returned as he saw the look of surprise flicker across Mary’s face.

“It’s where sick and hurt people go to get better.” It was the simplest explanation she could think of, but she found it hard to believe that the boy did not know the answer already. Could he be teasing her? 

“The doctors and nurses there will help to heal your hand.”

Mrs Darling kept a close eye on Peter as he walked by her side. They were only a few streets from the hospital, now, and it was too short a distance in the first place to warrant a taxi, but Mary was still worried the excursion might ware the child out. She needn’t have feared; Peter’s relief to be out-of-doors was almost overwhelming, and although he felt too fatigued to show it, his spirits were soaring!

Turning the final corner, they entered a busy street, and approached the magnificent structure that housed the hospital. Peter had never seen such a grand building up close before; the ornate pillars towered upwards, and the steep, stone stairs led dauntingly to huge double-doors. Peter felt his nerves returning, but swallowed them down, and followed Mrs Darling inside. 

The main lobby was bustling with activity; nurses and doctors were rushing to and fro, and people of all varieties were seated or being lead to their treatments. The huge marble staircase dominated the room, which was filled with light from the grand chandeliers that hung from above. Peter had never seen such a room, nor so many grown-ups gathered in one place. Although it relieved him somewhat to see other children there too, he could not help squeezing Mary’s hand a little as they approached the large desk.

“May I help you?” inquired the nurse sat behind it.

“Yes, I hope so. Our family doctor, Dr Leighton, suggested I should bring Peter in to be looked at. He cut his hand quite badly last night.” Peter continued to look around, fearful of these new, unfamiliar surroundings. So many people were coming and going, he was feeling quite on-edge. 

“I see.” The nurse began to look through papers in front of her, through narrow spectacles. “Has he been a patient at this hospital before?”

“Well,” Mrs Darling looked down at the boy at her side, but he was obviously oblivious to the conversation and not looking at her. “I don’t really know. I only met him yesterday.”

The nurse stared at her for a moment with disapproving eyes. “So, you are not a relation of this child?”

“No, I... He’s a friend of my children.”

“Well, I’m afraid you’ll have to contact his parents and inform them before he can be treated.”

“Oh, but... Peter has told us he has no parents.” The nurse now turned her disapproving gaze onto the boy. Feeling her eyes upon him, Peter fixed her with a glare which only seemed to make her own face darken.

“I see. Well, if you would fill these forms in for our records, I’ll see if a doctor is free.”

Sir Ronald Arton was Chief of Medicine on the children’s ward, well respected in the hospital and London’s medical profession. He specialised in the treatment of children, which was odd if you knew him personally, as he had little fondness for youngsters outside of medicine.

“Hello, young man.” he said as he entered the examination room where Peter and Mrs Darling were seated. “How do you do, Madam.” he added, taking Mary’s hand. He was followed by another nurse, younger than the one at the front desk, who moved to the corner of the room and stood motionless, awaiting further instruction. 

Seating himself behind the desk, Sir Arton continued to flick through the notes in his hand. “Your name is Peter Pan. An unusual surname...” he commenced, glancing at his patient. Peter did not like the tone of this remark. There was nothing wrong with his name. He observed the man in front of him; old, with grey hair and a thick moustache and beard, he smelt of soup and cigars. Peter disliked him instantly.

“Now, if you wouldn’t mind sitting up on the examination table, we’ll take a look at this hand of yours.” He gestured to an uncomfortable-looking wooden table with a slightly inclined head rest that stood in the corner of the small room. Peter glanced at it, but did not move. 

“Come along, sonny. We haven’t got all day!” Sir Ronald was now standing next to the table, his patience waning. Mrs Darling rose in an attempt to encourage Peter to stand, but the boy folded his arms as best he could, in an act of defiance, and stared straight ahead.

Sir Arton let out a sigh of annoyance. “Mrs Darling, if the child refuses to let me examine him, I’ll have to have him held down.” Peter’s head snapped to glare at the Doctor, his eyes daring him to try it! 

“Oh, I’m sure that won’t be necessary. Will it, Peter?” Peter said nothing.

“Right. That’s it... I don’t have time for this nonsense. Nurse, fetch two of the wardens please.” 

“Yes, Doctor.” the young woman answered as she left the room to comply. In less than a minute she returned with two young men, both dressed in matching white uniforms.

“Now then, young man...” Sir Ronald asked, turning to Peter, “Will you lie still of your own accord, or will you be forced?” Pan eyed up the two men staring back at him, then looked to Mary. She was smiling back at him reassuringly. The boy slowly stood and turned towards the table, Sir Arton showing a slight smile of triumph. 

Taking a few slow steps, Peter suddenly turned and dashed to the door, knocking past the two wardens who had both let their guard down. He threw the door open and dashed into the hall. He tried to remember which way they came, but there was little time to think as he ran full-pelt through double-doors and into a ward. A nurse screamed as he pushed her out of his way, and a man in a white coat shouted at him to stop. But he would not stop. He crashed through more double-doors and along another corridor. All the while he could hear the wardens pursuing him, and in another moment he felt a hand grab hold of his shirt and pull him back.

Peter struggled desperately against the man who caught him, his hand being knocked painfully in the fray. Although he fought to get away, the second warden soon had hold of him as well, and there was little he could do but kick out and try to bite them. Soon they had dragged him back to where Sir Arton and Mrs Darling stood waiting.

“Nurse, bring me two hundred milligrams of Lithium Bromide.” The wardens pulled Peter back into the examination room and closed the door, but the boy’s continued shouts of protest could still be heard. 

“Yes, Doctor.”

“Mrs Darling, will you kindly wait out here. We will calm Peter down and examine his injury.” Mary was a little dumbfounded at Peter’s passionate bid to escape, and almost speechless. 

“But I... Shouldn’t I sit with him? He seems so worried.”

“No, it would be better if you just stay out here, out of the way. We’ll be finished in no time.” With that, Sir Arton re-entered the examination room himself, leaving Mary to meekly sit on a bench opposite the door.

Peter writhed and kicked as he was forced to lie down on the examining table. “No! Let me go! Get off of me!” Try as he might, he could not escape the strong grasp of the wardens, pinning him down.

“Now, young man. We’ve had enough of this...” The nurse had just returned carrying a tray from which Sir Arton picked up a large syringe. Peter, never having seen a syringe before, paid little attention until he saw the sharp and gleaming needle protruding from it being brought closer to him by that man. He recommenced his struggle, but the wardens put more of their weight on him so he could barely move at all. The pain from his hand as one of them lent down upon his wound also shocked him into stillness; just long enough for Sir Arton to jab the needle into the boy’s arm and inject the sedative.

Peter’s vision began to blur, and his head started to feel woozy. Then all he saw was darkness.

Chapter 7

Peter paced up and down in agitation. He still felt a little groggy from the drug, but at the same time, restless. He shot another scowl at the warden who had remained to guard him, standing, arms-folded, in front of the door. There was no other means of escape; the only window, situated behind the desk, was barred on the outside, like a prison.

Just then, the rattle of the door signalled the Doctor’s return, and the warden stepped aside, but kept his gaze firmly fixed on Peter, obviously expecting the boy to make another break for it. Instead, Peter turned to face the door, but took a few steps back, just in case. But it was Mary Darling who entered first, followed by Sir Arton and the stony-faced, young nurse.

“Hello, Peter” Mrs Darling said, giving him a sweet but anxious smile. Peter’s gaze dropped to the floor in anger. How could she bring him to this horrible place?! “How are you feeling?” Mary continued, at a loss of what else to say. After receiving no response, she took a seat close to the boy, so as to be more at his level. “Listen, Peter...” - the child shot her a glance to show her that he was – “I’ve been speaking with Dr Arton, and... he feels it would be best if you stayed here for a little while...” Peter’s head snapped up to lock her with an expression of horror!

“Stay here?!” Peter screeched, indignant. “No! You can’t! You can’t make me!” 

Mary tried to sooth the child; “Only for a day or two. They just want to make sure your hand will heal properly. There’s nothing to be worried about.” But, to her alarm, Peter ceased protesting and instead burst into tears! “Oh, my darling...”She attempted to embrace him in a soothing hug, but he stepped away sharply, holding up his hands and still sobbing.

“Best to leave him with us now, Mrs Darling...” broke in Sir Arton, “We’ll take good care of him.”

Mary glanced from the doctor to the boy, wringing her hands with indecision, but finally walked out of the door. 

“Nurse...” Sir Arton turned to the po-faced woman, “Two hundred milligrams of Lithium Bromide, please.”

The young woman took a double-take. “Doctor?”

“Lithium Bromide, girl! Two hundred milligrams, now!”

“Yes, Doctor.”

Chapter 8

Wendy slammed through the double doors into a ward, jogging ahead of her parents and the doctor. She cast her eyes from one side of the ward, to the other, and back, searching for her dearest friend. She reached the final bed, but it was not Peter lying there. Wendy turned back to look at the adults, perplexed.

“It is a little further on,” explained Sir Arton, indicating another set of doors ahead of them, “through there, and the third on the left.”

She picked up her pace again; hand out-stretched to push the next door aside, and was confronted with a long corridor of private rooms.

“I decided Peter and the other patients would be more comfortable if he was kept separate.” Sir Arton said, in response to Mrs Darling’s questioning glance.

Wendy was upon the third door, as directed, and turning the handle to no avail; the doorknob rattled but the latch would not yield. Suddenly, a tall man in white was standing next to Wendy, looking down at her, arms folded. The little girl could not help but gasp and step away in surprise. She felt fearful beneath the man’s stern gaze. 

“Open the door, Warden.” The man in white looked away from Wendy as Sir Arton addressed him, and turned towards the door to comply with his superior’s direction. A large set of keys was produced, and the warden selected one of them confidently, despite their seemingly identical appearance. 

After a brief fiddling with the lock, the door to Peter’s room was opened, and Wendy rushed inside.

Wendy stopped dead as she beheld her friend, lying in a small iron bed, eyes closed, a thin sheen of sweat upon his face. He looked awful. 

“Peter?” The boy’s eyes seemed to flicker at the sound of Wendy’s voice, but they remained shut. She turned to her mother, with a beseeching look. “What’s wrong with him?”

It was the austere doctor who answered; “I’m afraid we have had to keep him sedated for much of the last few days...” He was speaking more to Mrs Darling, than her daughter; truth be told, he couldn’t really abide children, especially those who asked questions and talked back.

“... Peter displays some rather concerning psychological symptoms, Mrs Darling.”

“I beg your pardon?” Mary raised a hand to her chest in shock.

“He has been chattering on about some sort of imaginary land. He seems quite convinced. I fear he suffers from delusions... possibly even hallucinations as well. He is a very sick little boy, Mrs Darling.”

“No he is not!” Wendy began her defence before Mrs Darling could make her own response. “He is not delusional; he was probably just talking about Neverland.”

“Neverland?” Sir Arton looked more amused than perplexed.

Wendy faltered. She was no fool; she knew a grownup like this doctor would have no comprehension of such wonders as Neverland... or Fairies... or flying. To him, such things were impossible absurdities.

“It is a game we play at.”It felt like a sort of betrayal, but it was all she could think of as a means of exonerating Peter.

“Indeed.” Sir Arton sounded little convinced. “But I’m afraid Peter seems to have started to believe in this ‘game’ too deeply. I would like to recommend that he be psychologically assessed.”

“Goodness!” exclaimed Mrs Darling. “Is that really necessary?”

“I’m afraid so.”

Wendy looked back at the anxious, unconscious face of her friend, and she felt fear prickle in her belly.

Chapter 9

Almost two weeks had passed since Wendy first visited her friend in hospital. Peter was still there; he had been moved to a psychiatric wing, but Sir Arton was still overseeing his treatment.

Wendy felt powerless to help him.

“But when can we visit him, mother?” Her eyes searched Mary’s face, beseechingly.

“When the Doctor thinks best, dearest. Peter is very ill, and we wouldn’t want to make him worse, or slow his recovery, would we?”

“But he only hurt his hand! They shouldn’t be keeping him for so long!” Wendy’s eyes began to well with tears, as they often had since their visit to see Peter in hospital.

“It’s not fair!”

“I know, darling...” Mary pulled her daughter to her, and held her tightly. “But he’ll be better soon. You’ll see!”

Wendy felt somewhat comforted by the sure embrace of her mother... but she knew the words she was hearing were not sincere.

Chapter 10

Peter’s mind fogged. He felt tired and weak, yet restless. He longed to leave the small room he had been brought to. How long had it been? A week? More?

Every day, that man would come. And every day, he would jab Peter with a needle, and Peter would be lost to some dark and muddled place that wasn’t quite oblivion, but left him incapable of cognitive thought.

If he resisted, he would be held down... but he resisted often.

Today, Sir Arton was yet to arrive, and Peter decided to seize the chance before the good doctor’s drugs would incapacitate him for the day. Weakly throwing back the bedclothes, Peter summoned the strength to swing his legs over the side of the bed, and lowered himself, tentatively, to the floor. His legs quivered with the strain of supporting Peter’s bodyweight, but he steadied himself with his grasp on the bedpost.

He took a few moments to gather what strength he had remaining, then began to approach the door.

Taking hold of the doorknob with both hands, he was surprised to find that it yielded to his touch. The click of the door unlatching filled Peter with hope at the prospect of escape.

Suddenly, a dark mass appeared on the other side of the door’s window. The black silhouette of a tall figure stood, in profile, directly behind Peter’s door. 

The boy held his breath, eyes widened in alarm. Was it Sir Arton, come early? No. But there was something eerily familiar about the shape of this figure that caused an icy sensation to spread up Peter’s spine.

Alarm turned to cold fear as the figure raised its arm, and a flash of steel grabbed Peter’s gaze. 

Letting go of the doorknob, the boy turned and fled back to the bed he had been so keen to escape. His shout of distress as he did so soon brought the nurse and matron marching into the room. 

There was no sign of the shadowy figure, or its blade.

“What is all this noise?!” demanded the matron, a middle-aged, austere woman, with a face that aged her.

Peter quelled his cries, gasping for breath. 

“Hook!” His eyes were fixed on the doorway, and he pointed at the place he had seen the man. “Hook!”

“Hook?” repeated matron. “What sort of hook? What are you talking about?”

“There! Hook... was there!”

Matron glanced behind her, to where Peter was indicating. A slight disdain played about her features, and she turned back to the boy, agitated.

“Nurse, fetch Sir Arton.”

Chapter 11

“I understand that this must be upsetting for you both, Mr and Mrs Darling,” Sir Arton slowly paced the floor behind his mahogany desk, his forefinger lightly tapping the lit cigar, “but the boy has been raving to such a degree, I fear his psychosis has worsened to an irreparable degree.”

Mary Darling, whose eyes had been downcast, focussing on her husband’s reassuring hands that were entwined with her own, now looked up to hold the gaze of the doctor.

“Are you saying he is beyond help? Beyond hope?” 

“In my professional opinion... yes.”

Mary let out a pained sob which she quelled by bringing her handkerchief to her mouth while tightening her grip on her husband.

“But... I don’t understand! I only brought him here to have his hand seen to, and now...” Another sob chocked the end of her sentence.

“I know. It’s a terrible shame, Mrs Darling. But, with all due respect, the boy hadn’t been in your charge for long... and there’s no telling what damage his mind had suffered in early life.”

“What do you suggest as a course of action?” Mr Darling still feared the effect Peter was having on his family, but he would always find strength to support his wife.

“I would recommend committing Peter to an indefinite course of treatment at a more specialised establishment. Colney Hatch, most probably.”

“Are you saying that Peter is a lunatic?!” Mary’s voice was quiet, and her eyes searched Sir Arton’s face for meaning.

“I’m afraid I am.”

George grasped his wife firmly around the shoulders as she let out a strangled cry. Although she was sitting, he feared she might topple from her chair. It seemed to him she could have hardly reacted more emotionally than if it were her own child who was to be incarcerated.

“May I see him?”

“Mary, dearest... I’m not sure that is such a good...”

“I must see him.” Her now strengthened voice cut across her husband’s protest, but she kept her gaze fixed on the doctor. 

Chapter 12

Peter couldn’t help a small sigh of relief when Mary went to speak with the Matron, leaving Wendy and he alone.

“I saw him, Wendy.”

The little girl, so relieved to be in her friend’s company, had been preoccupied with stroking his hand as they sat together on the uncomfortable bed, that it took her a moment to regain her focus and process what Peter had just said.

“Saw who, Peter?”

“Hook.”

Wendy’s eyes widened.

“Hook?!” 

Peter nodded, holding her gaze meaningfully.

“Are you sure? Where was he? What was he doing?”

“I’m sure. He was standing on the other side of that door... but I’m sure. It was Hook.”

“Have you seen him since? What does he want?”

“I would bet that it’s me he’s after, wouldn’t you?”

She ignored the tinge of sarcasm in his voice, and they grew silent. Peter was now convinced that the silhouette had been that of his enemy, Captain Hook, even if it had only been glanced through frosted glass.

Hook meant danger. But he also meant... Neverland.

“Wendy! Hook could take me home!”

Wendy’s mouthed opened in surprise.

“Peter... Hook could kill you! He could take you home... but would he? I doubt it.”

The smile that had been playing on Peter’s face fell away when he beheld Wendy’s scepticism.

“Then how, Wendy? How can I get back to Neverland? I just want to go home!” And his eyes began to well.

“Oh, Peter... Don’t cry...”

“I’m not crying.”

“...Why don’t you fly home?”

“I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“I just can’t, Wendy!” His voice rose to a pitiful shout which was strangled by sobs.

“I’m sorry.” She remained quiet a while, gently rubbing Peter’s back, waiting for him to calm.

“Are you alright, my angels?” Mary had re-entered, looking tired, but smiling weakly.

“Peter would like to go home, mother.”

“Oh...” Mrs Darling slipped into a nearby chair, grateful for its physical support. “Oh, my darling,” She looked desperately into Peter’s face, but he would not meet her eyes. “the doctors think you need a little more time here, to get better.”

Peter pulled away from Wendy and stood, rounding on Mary.

“I am better! There’s nothing wrong with me! They’re making me sick, they all are! I want to leave! I want to go home!”

Mary reached out to calm the boy, but he slapped her hands away.

“It’s your fault! You brought me here! You left me here! It’s your fault! I hate you!” 

Peter moved towards Mary, grabbed her by the shoulders, and shook her with all his might.

“Peter! Stop!” Both Wendy and Mary were screaming at the boy, but he refused to let go. 

When Peter’s grasp moved from Mary’s shoulders to her throat, Wendy dashed into the corridor, calling for help.

“I hate you!” Peter screamed the words at Mary as he began to choke her.

In moments, three wardens, two nurses and a doctor hurried through the door. One of the nurses darted back out while the three wardens and the doctor grabbed hold of Peter and wrenched his hands away from Mrs Darling’s neck. 

The ordeal had been no more than half a minute, but Mary coughed and gasped as her airway was freed, and Peter was wrestled to the ground, where he continued to scream.

“Mother! Are you alright?” Wendy appeared at her mother’s side, her face full of concern.

“Yes, my darling.” Mary managed to choke out the words between coughs and gasps. “Yes, I’m fine now. Thank you.” They embraced, and both looked down at Peter, who was still struggling against the two adult men who were pinning him to the floor.

“He is mad” murmured Mrs Darling.

Wendy looked up at her.

“No, mother! He didn’t mean it. He was upset!”

“Are you alright, Mrs Darling?” 

It was the doctor who had accompanied the wardens to the fray. Mary now realised that it was none other than Dr Leighton, their family physician.

“Dr Leighton! What are you doing here? Oh, I do beg your pardon... Yes, I am quite well, thank you.”

“He didn’t mean to!” The little girl looked up at Leighton with tears streaming down her cheeks. “He just wants to go home!”

Leighton looked down at Peter, who was beginning to quieten having spent all his energy.

“He often reacts aggressively, as I recall.” 

The Doctor knelt down by the boy, and indicated to the wardens to let him sit up.

“Hello, Peter. Do you remember me?”

After righting himself, Peter glared at the man before him. He did not remember him... but then familiarity grew, and he seemed to recall sitting like this, on the floor as they were now, with this same man reaching out for his hand.

“Have you calmed down?”

Peter nodded, but did not speak.

“Good. Nurse, please get me Peter’s file. And please escort Mrs Darling and Miss Wendy to somewhere more comfortable.”

“Yes, Doctor.” The nurse he had been addressing offered Mary her arm, and helped her to her feet. One of the wardens assisted, while the other two remained close to Peter.

The second nurse brought in Peter’s medical notes and handed them to Doctor Leighton.

“He is Sir Arton’s patient, I see.”

“Yes, Doctor.”

Leighton’s brow furrowed.

“And he has been prescribed Lithium Bromide?”

“Yes, Doctor.”

Chapter 13

“Sir Arton… a word.”

The gentleman-doctor looked over his shoulder at the sound of his name, removing his attention the fellow physicians he had been in discussion with, to behold Dr. Leighton… the young do-gooder.

“Of course, Dr Leighton… Shall we step into my office?” He gestured the direction with his hand, and led Leighton the twenty paces to his door, all the while disguising his distaste for his colleague with pleasant politeness. 

“Do take a seat...” he continued, after closing the door behind them. 

Sir Arton's private office was large and richly furnished; only those of great intellect or the wealth iest of patients were entertained here.

“I have had cause, Sir, to inspect the medical notes of a patient of yours...”

“Oh?” Sir Arton's eyebrows rose involuntarily; he was not accustomed to sharing patients or allowing 'second opinions'. 

“Indeed,” continued Leighton, ignoring the intimidating stare of his superior, “Peter Darling. I coudn't help but notice you had prescribed Lithium Bromide.”

“Indeed I did.” barked Arton. “What of it?”

“Sir…” Dr Leighton leaned forward in his chair to emphasise his point, “Lithium Bromide is, as I am sure you are only too aware, an unpredictable and potentially dangerous drug to be using…”

“Poppycock, man! It's one of the best sedatives around. There's not a shred of evidence that it causes any lasting harm.”

“Sir Arton, I must disagree! Bromism is a widely recognised condition, and Peter already appears to be displaying several symptoms; Restlessness… irritability… hallucinations… weight-loss… He even has a rash forming on his lower-back and left thigh.”

“Not related, man. I've been prescribing Lithium Bromide since before you graduated medical school! It's a safe and reliable sedative, used by the best physicians.”

“Sir Arton, how can you say that?! There is increasing evidence to suggest that Lithium Bromide causes lasting and damaging affects when prescribed for a prolonged period. And for a child of Peter's age, the risks only increase!”

“Absolute stuff and nonsense, sir! I will not have my professional opinion undermined in this way! You keep to your patients, Dr Leighton, and leave me to mine.”

Sir Arton rose from his chair and proceeded to open the office door, suggesting it was time for Leighton to take his leave. But the good doctor could not abandon his own conscience, and also rose;

“Very well. If you refuse to reassess your position on the matter, I will have no choice but to voice my concerns elsewhere.”

Sir Arton blinked and stood a moment, considering the man before him, and his last words. Then Arton closed the door.

“Are you threatening me, sir?” 

“Not at all. It is my professional duty to raise any concerns I have about any fellow member of staff, be they influential or no.”

“Well, you are right there, Leighton… I am influential. And unless you cease questioning my medical ability and authority, you can consider your career abruptly over.”

It was Leighton's turn to stare; disbelief eventually transforming into defeat on his face.

“Now it seems it is you who is threatening me, Sir.”

“You're damn right I am. You think you can come onto my ward, and question me about my patients?! I will see you out on the street, jobless and penniless, before I allow you to undermine my reputation and sully my good name. I will treat my patients as I see fit… and you will not interfere. Am I making myself clear, sir?”

Chapter 14

George Darling had spent the weeks following Peter's absence in a melancholy stupor. It was not that he missed the boy, of course… but guilt had begun to consume him. After all, it was he who had jumped to conclusions, and he who wanted rid of the retched child. 

He had also felt despair when he realised his wife and daughter had lost a little of their faith in him; flying off the handle, as it were, and ignoring their pleas had created a distance between them that had not existed before.

Now, the boy was gone… But Mary and Wendy were still both preoccupied with him, even between hospital visits. 

But recently, that had all started to change. Peter had attacked Mary, and she had now lost her faith in him. 

Wendy stood firm, insisting that Peter had not meant what he'd said, or what he had done; but the incident could not be forgotten. 

Mary had not been to the hospital since. 

This should have improved Mr Darling's mood, but it had not. His daughter was miserable, for one thing… But George also could not shake that feeling of guilt.

Sullenly, he walked about the house. Being a Saturday, he hadn't even the bank and a good balance-sheet to escape to. He tried to ignore the sombre atmosphere, and the dreary look of his wife's face. At least all the children were being quiet upstairs. They were rarely boisterous these days. 

George had just decided to pass some time with a newspaper, when the doorbell rang. 

Arriving in the hall before Liza, Mr Darling opened the front door to behold a well-dressed gentleman he knew well. 

“Dr Leighton...”

“Good evening, Mr Darling. I hope I am not intruding?”

George took a moment to regain himself. 

“Why, not at all. Do, please, come in.” George stepped to the side, so that Leighton could gain admittance.

“Forgive me, Doctor. I did not know we were expecting a house-call.”

Mary heard their voices from her seat in the drawing room, and rose to greet the doctor herself.

“Dr Leighton. Is something the matter?”

“Good evening, Mrs Darling. No. Forgive me… I was just hoping I could speak with you both.”

Mr Darling gestured towards an armchair, and Leighton took a seat. 

“You have quite recovered from your ordeal, Mrs Darling?”

“Why, yes indeed.” Mary returned to her own chair. “I am perfectly alright. Was that all that brought you here?”

“I'm afraid not. I wanted to discuss Peter.” 

Mr Darling, who had been pouring Dr. Leighton and himself a small sherry each, paused, decanter in hand. 

“Is he alright?” Mary asked, after a moment's silence.

“It is the boy's welfare that I wish to discuss. Oh, but let me assure you, he is not in any immediate danger...”

“Danger?! Whatever do you mean, Doctor?” Mary looked at her husband as he said this, a little surprised at the concern in his voice; rarely did he even mention Peter.

“I am afraid that I do not believe Peter's best interests are being considered.”

“But, Doctor Leighton…” Mary gave him a bewildered smile, “He is in hospital. He is under the care of Sir Arton.”

“I am afraid, Mrs Darling, that I have serious reservations concerning Sir Arton's choice of treatment for Peter.”

“Whatever do you mean?!”

“Please, do not misunderstand me; Sir Arton is a fine doctor, and a highly respected physician...”

“Indeed he is!”

“...but he is also a very stubborn and headstrong man, who isn't known for keeping up to date with modern research.”

Mary and George stared at Leighton rather blankly.

“I believe that many of the symptoms Peter is now exhibiting; restlessness, irritability, hallucinations, skin rash… are all the result of his medication.”

“Dr Leighton… Why would Sir Arton be using such an unsuitable treatment on a child?”

Leighton realised Mrs Darling was sceptical. And why would she not be? Sir Arton had met with her on multiple occasions, each time convincing her of the effectiveness of his methods, and the prowess of his position in the medical world.

“Please, Mrs Darling… I do not mean to attack Sir Arton, but I believe he is wrong on this occasion. He is using a drug that is increasingly falling out of favour in the field, because of it's extreme side-effects.”

“And what would you suggest as an alternative?” Mary demanded, sharply.

Leighton was a little taken aback; he had not expected Mrs Darling to be so defensive.

“I would suggest Peter be discharged from hospital immediately, and return to convalesce here.”

Something like fear flashed across Mary's face, and she stood abruptly.

“I will not have that boy near my children!”

Both men looked at her aghast, and George was so shocked that he almost dropped the sherry glasses he was holding. 

“Mother?” Wendy appeared in the Drawing Room doorway. 

“Mother, what's going on?”

“Nothing of your concern, Wendy. Go back upstairs.”

The little girl ignored her mother's words, and stared at Dr Leighton.

“Is it about Peter? Oh, mother… He didn't mean to hurt you...”

“Yes he did!” Mary almost screamed, and Wendy's eyes brimmed with tears.

“Father. Please… He didn't mean to!”

“Get upstairs, now!” Mary marched towards her daughter, who turned tail and fled back upstairs, the sound of her sobbing trailing behind her.

Mrs Darling turned back to the gentleman in her Drawing Room. 

“I thank you for your concern, Dr Leighton, but I do not agree with it. Peter must stay where he can receive proper care. He is too ill to be allowed near other people, especially children. If you'll excuse me...”

And she was gone, up the stairs after her daughter.

Both men stood speechless, staring at the doorway where she had stood. 

Finally, Leighton looked down at his shoes, then turned to his host. 

“I must apologise, Mr Darling. I did not think...” Mr Darling turned to look at him, but he did not speak.

“Please excuse me...” Leighton made his way across the room, sherry ignored.

“Dr Leighton?” He turned back to George.

Chapter 15

Peter was having what felt like the worst night of his life; though he urged his exhausted self to sleep, he was restless and was unable to settle. Whatever that doctor had stabbed him with earlier that day was wearing off, and the fog was lifting. Despite enjoying the sensation of having a clear head, Peter almost willed for the nurse to return and inject him with another dose to banish the discomfort of the rash that had appeared some days ago, and now burned with an angry intensity. It also made sleeping on his back or left side unbearable.

Giving up on rest, Peter slipped out of bed and tentatively crossed the room to the door. Even though he knew it would not have been left unlocked, he gave the door-handle a tug. Alas, his uncompromising efforts to escape meant that he was now always kept under lock and key, and only ever visited by Arton and the nurses under the supervision of at least two wardens.

He hadn't seen Wendy for days… perhaps even more than a week. It was difficult to keep track of time locked in that small room.

He walked over to the barred window, which only looked onto a brick wall. It was growing dark outside. Peter gave the grating that covered the window a tug, but it was as unyielding as ever, and he hadn't the strength to try harder.

All he wanted to do was go home, but that was not an easy task. Now that Wendy's mother had seemingly forsaken and abandoned him in this awful place, escape seemed almost impossible.

His only hope now was Hook.

Had Wendy believed him, when he had told her he had seen the pirate-captain? Peter wasn't sure. She had seemed doubtful. He knew the grown-ups would have brushed it off as a 'hallucination', and he'd probably have been stuck with another needle to the arm.

But Peter had seen him. If only there was some way to contact him. But, no… Peter would just have to wait for Hook to return.

He climbed back onto his bed and sat upon the bedclothes. Arms wrapped around his knees in front of him, Peter stared at the door, and waited.

Minutes must have gone by, and Peter allowed his head to rest on his knees… and eventually he fell into a light sleep.

At some nondescript sound, Peter was awake and looking around. Had he heard something? There was suddenly the recognisable jangling of keys in the lock of the door, and Peter leapt to his feet.

Then he noticed the silhouette through the window of the door.

Chapter 16

Wendy had heard enough to understand that something was deeply amiss. Peter, although still in the hospital, was in some sort of trouble; she could here it in the doctor's voice. Something was wrong.

Fighting back her sobs as she ascended the stairs and ran along the corridor, she tried to clear her head and think what this trouble might be. She was somewhat relieved that Mary was not following her, but had instead headed towards her own bedroom. 

Wiping her tears, Wendy opened the nursery door to find all eight of her brothers out of bed and gathered to meet her, concern in their faces.

“What was mother shouting about?” asked John, in a subdued tone.

Wendy breathed in deeply to quell the last of her sobbing, and closed the nursery door.

“Peter is in some sort of trouble.”

“Peter?” Slightly responded, “But… Peter's in hospital. What sort of trouble could he possibly be in there?!”

“I don't know, Slightly,” she admitted, “but Dr Leighton doesn't think he should be there any more; he should be here, with us.”

“Dr Leighton said that? Is he here?” 

“Yes, John. He's downstairs. I heard him ask mother and father to let Peter come home, but...” she faltered; disclosing Mary's reaction to the boys felt almost like a betrayal, “Mother wouldn't hear of it.”

“What?!” 

“She won't allow it.”

The children all stared at one another for several moments, trying to comprehend this new side to their mother, who was usually always so kind and light-hearted.

“Well,” Nibs broke the silence, “what shall we do?”

Wendy felt rallied to action. “Boys, get dressed; we're going to the hospital.”

In a fray of hurried action, all children were clothed (fairly well) and creeping from the nursery, down the stairs, and towards the front door.

“Where on earth do you think you are all going?!”

Wendy and the boys turned to behold their father and the doctor emerging from the Drawing Room.

Wendy straightened her stance and stood tall before the adults. “We are going to the hospital.”

“Oh, really?”

“Yes.” Wendy tried not to loose her nerve, “We are going to the hospital to get Peter.”

Mr Darling beheld his daughter for a moment, standing before him in all her determined glory. But his fatherly instincts won out;

“No you most certainly are not! You are staying here. Back to bed now, all of you.” and he started trying to corral his children back upstairs, to no avail.

Seeing he was making little headway, George opted to divulge his and Leighton's plan;

“Children, Dr Leighton and I are going to the hospital to fetch Peter now… ourselves.”

Wendy's face broke into a smile of relief.

“Oh, father!” She ran to him and threw her arms around his waist in an ecstatic hug.

A little surprised at first, George eventually returned the embrace before pulling her away to stand before him.

“That means you, young lady, can go back up to the nursery with your brothers.”

Wendy's smile faltered. “Oh no, father… I'm coming with you.”

It was not a plea, but a statement.

“No, Wendy. You are to stay here.” George reached past the children to retrieve his and Leighton's hats and coats, and was dismayed when Wendy followed;

“Father, please! We want to come too.”

At her words, all the boys chimed their agreement; “Yes, Father… please let us come.”

“Please, father!”

“Please!”

“Let us come, too!”

George was feeling his resolve weaken, but would not loose face completely.

“That's enough, boys! I will not go traipsing through the streets of London with nine children in tow!” He looked at them all, and they all stared back, eyes beseeching. George felt he had to give, just a little. “Wendy may come… but all you boys need to go back to bed.”

His daughter beamed at him as his sons moaned their disappointment.

“No, no… not another word. The sooner you boys are back upstairs, the sooner we can be off.”

Begrudgingly, all eight boys began trudging their way back up the stairs as Wendy shooed them along with her hands. Once they had all made it to the landing, she turned and quickly donned her own coat.

Chapter 17

Peter held his breath as he stared at the silhouetted figure standing outside his room. The figure seemed to lean forward a little, and Peter almost flinched as the door-handle rattled, and the sound of keys jangled in the lock.

The boy couldn't help taking a few slow, nervous steps backwards; even though this was what he had been hoping for, the prospect of coming face to face with his most fearsome enemy, cornered in a small room, was still terrifying. 

What if Hook refused to take him back to Neverland, and instead gutted him right then and there? This was a very real risk, and Peter shuddered at the prospect of never seeing his homeland again.

A key turned in the lock, and the latch clicked as the door was opened.

Peter shielded his eyes from the light that flowed in from the corridor; the light from the window had lessened further, and the room had grown darker than Peter had realised. His eyes soon adjusting to the light, Peter beheld the man standing before him.

Sir Arton was a little dismayed to find the boy out of bed and wide-awake… but no matter. He moved into the room, turning on the electrical light as he did so, and closed the door behind him, taking care to lock it. Then he turned back to behold his young patient.

Peter bristled with a nervous fear as Arton scrutinised him with his gaze. He also felt a wave of disappointment, which seemed to drain what little energy he had left. All he could think to do was to slump back onto the bed in defeat.

It was only then that Peter noticed what was unusual; Arton was quite alone. No nurses. No wardens. And he carried a small, black medical bag.

Peter eyed the man suspiciously and, even though fatigued, tensed himself for a fight. If he could just overpower Arton (who was not a young man), Peter would stand a chance of escape.

Sir Arton placed his bag down on a small surgical trolley that stood against one wall, and opened it.

“And how is the patient feeling this evening?” he purred, riffling around and pulling something from the bag, out of Peter's line of sight.

Peter was almost sure of what it was the old doctor was now holding, and it filled him with a mixture of dread and relief; if he wasn't going to be rescued, then he would rather be in a state of sedation, numb to the world and unaware of the passage of time.

But wait! Wasn't the plan now to escape? Surely he could fight off this decrepit quack? He was even older than Captain Hook!

As Arton turned, and was indeed holding a syringe in his hand, Peter steadied himself for an attack… But he just felt so exhausted. 

The doctor began walking steadily towards Peter, his gaze burning into the boy's eyes.

“Now I want you to be a good boy, and behave yourself… Just lay back onto the bed for me...”

Peter did not move.

“Peter. Lie down.”

Peter did not move.

Sir Arton was standing directly before him now, as close to Peter as he could get. A few beats passed between the two, neither willing to break the stand-off.

But suddenly, Arton lunged, grabbing Peter's left forearm with his free hand and attempting to drive the syringe home with the other.

Peter gave a startled yell, and grabbed Arton's right arm with both hands, desperately trying to force the syringe back, away from his skin. Despite the man's age, he was strong, and Peter's fatigued muscles began to throb with pain after only a few seconds of holding off the attack.

Mustering what strength he could, Peter managed to deflect Arton to the left, and the syringe's needle plunged into the mattress of the bed. Seizing the moment, Peter rolled away and stood. Looking about the sparse room, he ran to the surgical trolley and grabbed up Arton's medical bag. 

By this time, Sir Arton had extracted the needle from the mattress, and had spun round to face the boy once again. 

As the man started again to advance towards him, Peter hurled the bag… which Arton deflected with ease. Left with nothing else to throw, Peter picked up the surgical trolley itself, and flung it towards his assailant. Arton turned to the side, bringing his left shoulder forward as a shield… but the impact of the trolley slowed him, pain shooting up his arm as the trolley clattered to the floor.

Peter used this opportunity to try the door, franticly pulling on the handle and beating his hands against the wood. But it was locked. He would need to get the key.

Turning back, he just had time to dodge out of Arton's grasp, fleeing to the opposite corner of the small room.

“Peter!” Arton bellowed, clearly angry and in some pain, “It is just your medication. Stand still and behave, or I will have the wardens pin you down. Is that what you want?”

“Go on then… Go get them! You'll have to have me pinned down before I let you stab me with that thing again!”

Arton's brow seemed to harden as he stared at the unruly boy before him. He gathered himself, then attacked once more.

Peter screamed out as the man grabbed hold of him. Peter had tried to dodge, but there just wasn't enough room. 

“No! Let go of me! Let go!”

Arton ignored the pleas and the screams and wrestled Peter onto the bed, momentarily depositing the syringe beside the boy so he had both hands free to do so. 

As Peter's resistance weakened from exhaustion, Arton picked up the syringe once more, and readied it.

But Peter's screams had not gone unheard, and before Arton was able to drive the needle into the child's arm, shouts erupted behind the locked door, and it began to quiver on its hinges under the force of an attack. 

The sound of imminent rescue rallied Peter's efforts, and he desperately tried to hold his attacker at bay. 

But alas, Arton's needle was creeping ever-closer to Peter's arm, and in the next moment its point plunged into his flesh, and Peter screamed again.

The door finally gave way, and Arton was dragged backwards, off of the boy on the bed… but not before he had pressed down on the syringe's plunger, shooting almost half of the dose into Peter's arm.

At first, it felt like it always did when the drug first rushed through his system… but then it felt different: stronger... faster. Peter managed to reach across and pull the syringe and needle from his left arm, where Arton had left it, but then all his strength left him, and his vision began to darken. 

“Peter!” 

He heard three different voices shout his name, almost in unison... then all turned to oblivion.

Chapter 18

Leighton rushed to Peter's side, hoping against hope that he was not too late. Having quickly comprehended the scene they had found when he and Mr Darling had broken through the door, Leighton had wasted no time grabbing hold of Sir Arton as he towered over the boy, shouting Peter's name as he pulled the man roughly away.

“What in God's name are you doing, man?!”

Arton righted himself, and straightened his waistcoat; regaining a sense of composure before facing the question.

“I should ask you the same thing, sir! Bursting in here and attacking me while I tend my patient! I demand that you leave, sir… at once.”

But Leighton had wasted no time on the surgeon, and instead hurried to the child lying on the bed. Wendy was already there, cradling Peter's head; her father standing near. Both had called to the boy, but he had lost consciousness, a syringe lying in his limp hand.

“Peter?” Wendy whispered again, hurriedly wiping the tears from her cheeks before they could fall on her beloved friend's face.

“Peter?” Leighton echoed her, more forcefully; grasping the boys face in his hands and gently pulling his eyelids apart with one thumb, to reveal an unresponsive eye. 

Grabbing up the syringe, he turned back to Arton. “What is in this, sir?” 

Arton stood, resolute. 

“TELL ME!” 

The surgeon's resolve faltered, “Lithium Bromide, of course. That is the prescribed treatment for this patient, after all.”

Leighton stared at his superior is disgust and disbelief. “And how much was in here? How much were you trying to administer?!”

Sir Arton straightened, and stared straight ahead, remaining silent.

“Damn you!” Leighton's words were not shouted, but were filled with anger.

“Nurse!” A young woman, who had appeared at the door moments after the trio had burst into the room, looked to Leighton as he called her.

“Yes, Doctor?”

“How much Lithium Bromide was this boy to be administered?” 

“One hundred and fifteen milligrams twice a day, Doctor.”

Leighton examined the syringe once more.

“The is nearly four hundred left in this syringe.”

Leighton turned back to Arton, a look of disbelief mingled with disgust upon his face. “Gentleman...” He glanced over to the three wardens who had also appeared at the sound of the fray, and now stood in the doorway, looking dumbfounded at the scene before them. “Please escort Sir Arton to his office, and see that he remains there.”

The men hesitated, doubting the authority of the order for a moment; but then, two stepped forward and took firm hold of Sir Arton, each at one arm. As he was led out, a nervous laughter burst from him, and his objections continued to be heard until he had been removed from the ward; “This is preposterous! It is utter nonsense! You will regret this, Leighton! I've never been treated so despicably in all my life! This is outrageous! Do you hear?! Outrageous!”

“Nurse,” Leighton reverted to his professional tone as he called for attention, “let us begin resuscitation.” The original nurse, accompanied by two more of her colleagues, entered the room purposefully, and took their places around Peter. 

As they manoeuvred the unconscious boy into a better position, Leighton gently but swiftly pulled Wendy away.

“No!” The little girl had tears streaming down her cheeks. “I must stay with him!”

“My dear girl... I will do all I can to help Peter… but I need you to wait outside with your father.” 

George put a reassuring hand on his daughter's shoulder, but it seemed to give her little comfort.

“No! We have to get him out of here. We're supposed to be rescuing him!”

“Wendy, this is the best place for Peter. He is in no condition to leave now.”

“But he doesn't want to be here!” Sensing no hope there, Wendy turned instead to her father. “Father, you said we were going to take him home.”

“Wendy,” Leighton took hold of the girl's shoulders, so that his face was mere inches from her own. “If we don't help Peter now, he could die.”

The child's face trembled, and she turned to bury her face in the waistcoat of her father before releasing a pained cry.

Chapter 19

Wendy tried to silence her own sobs as she watched the frantic work of Dr Leighton and the nurses; but when Peter stopped breathing, and Leighton began beating the boy's chest in an effort to restore the beating of his heart, the little girl could control herself no longer, and broke down into near-hysterical wailing.

She resisted as her father dragged her from the room, but managed to regain some composure once in the calm of the corridor.

“Father, please… I mustn't leave him!” Mr Darling kept hold of his daughter's arm, to prevent her re-entering Peter's room, and the dismal scene it contained.

“Wendy, you will only get in the way. It's best to stay out here, my sweet. The doctor will keep us informed.”

Wendy's protests eventually melted away, and were replaced with anxious silence. But sure enough, as Mr Darling had predicted, Leighton soon appeared bearing news.

“Doctor. Is the boy...”

“We managed to get his heart going again, and he is breathing...” Both Wendy and George gave an audible sigh of relief.

“But...” Leighton looked down at Wendy, unsure of how best to proceed in front of the child. 

“I am afraid there is not much more that can be done.” His words were met with stares of incomprehension.

“I cannot say how much of the drug is in Peter's system. It could well be a fatal dose. He has already come close to death from it. His outlook is not a strong one.”

“You mean, you can't help him?” Wendy looked up at Dr Leighton, disbelievingly. “Peter is going to die?!”

“Not necessarily...” Leighton barely knew what to say to the angelic face peering up at him, beseechingly. “But, he needs rest. There's nothing else I can suggest. We can only hope that the drug works its way through his system.”

Mr Darling looked dumbstruck, but his daughter looked appalled; Peter could not die! There had to be some way to save him. He always managed to survive injury in Neverland, and poisoning by Hook.

Then inspiration struck her! 

Without another sob, or word of explanation, she turned from the men and fled.

Ignoring the concerned shouts of her father as he pursued her through the hospital corridors, Wendy swiftly navigated her way through the hospital, across the entrance foyer and out into the street. Without pausing, she dashed along the cobbles as quickly as she could, and made for home. 

George was alarmed at Wendy's sudden flight, and desperately tried to catch up with the girl as she darted through the hospital. His concern turned to sheer terror as he realised she was now outside, among the dark streets of London alone. 

“Wendy! Stop!” Although he caught a glimpse of her running beneath the street lamps, his cry was ignored, and she soon disappeared around a corner.

Wendy did not stop, nor look about her, until she arrived at the front door of number 14. Pushing against it, and finding it locked, she was forced to pause in her efforts to ring the doorbell and thump a fist against its wood to gain admittance.

Liza finally answered, after what had seemed an age to Wendy, and the little girl pushed past the maid without explanation.

“Boys! Boys!” Wendy dashed up the stairs, crashing through the nursery door when she reached it. 

She found the other children were asleep, and wasted no time rousing them. “Boys! Wake up! Get up, quick!”

Some of her brothers resisted, their groggy eyes opening and closing as they voiced grumbling protests.

“Get up, now! It's Peter.” 

At the mention of their leader, all boys were at once awake.

“What is it, Wendy?”

“Did you and father rescue him?”

Wendy felt she had little time to explain, but knew she was obliged to tell the boys something.

“Peter is dying.” Shocked cries of horror filled the nursery.

“Dr Leighton is trying to save him… but I fear it is beyond him now.” 

The older boys stared at her in alarm, the younger ones with confusion.

“Then… He's going to die?” Tootle's words hitched in his throat, and Michael began to cry.

“No,” declared Wendy. “We are going to save him.”

Chapter 20

“Wendy, what on earth is going on?”

All the children turned to face their mother at the sound of her voice. Wendy stared anxiously at Mary, open mouthed; but then her eyes hardened a little.

“Peter is in trouble, mother,” 

Mary winced.

“Is that where you have been? Where is your father?”

Wendy hesitated, thinking of how her father might be searching the streets for her as they spoke, full of concern for his runaway daughter.

“He… I left him at the hospital.” Wendy braced herself as she glanced from her mother's face to the floor.

There was a moment of silence as Mary processed what she had heard. “You walked all the way home… by yourself?! Wendy! How could you be so foolish? I am sure your father did not send you through the streets alone, so he must now be beside himself with worry. How could you?!”

“I am sorry, mother… but I ran all the way.”

“And you think that makes it acceptable? Running through the streets at night, alone! Wendy...”

“Mother, please! I had to come. Peter is dying!”

The words that Mary had been about to speak faltered, and vanished from her mind. Instead, she pictured the young boy she had soothed all those weeks ago, as he sat injured and weeping on her Drawing Room floor, and felt a stab of grief and guilt. 

In a state of shock, she addressed her daughter again, but without even looking at her. Instead, Mary's gaze remained distant. “I will… I will telephone the hospital, and check that you father is alright.”

“Mother, didn't you hear me?!” Wendy watched, incredulously, as Mary began to walk languidly from the room. At her daughter's words, she stopped momentarily, only to continue after the moment's pause. 

“Your father will be beside himself with worry,” she repeated, thoughtlessly.

Wendy was both perplexed and infuriated by her mother's reaction. “Come on, boys. Let's go.”

But as the children attempted to follow Mary from the nursery, the woman regained some of her awareness, and took hold of Wendy's wrist as she passed.

“Where do you children think you are going?”

“I told you, mother… we are going to help Peter.”

“Peter is in the best possible hands. Sir Arton will...”

“Sir Arton is the one who just tried to kill Peter!” 

Mary's mouth fell open in shock and disbelief as she beheld her furious girl. Wendy's eyes began to fill with tears as she held her mother's gaze, desperately willing for the woman to believe her.

“No. Surely, you are mistaken...”

“Telephone the hospital! Ask father! Ask Dr Leighton! They'll tell you.” Knowing that her mother doubted her word, Wendy could no longer prevent the tears from escaping down her cheeks, as Mary blinked down at her.

Finally, Mrs Darling seemed to rouse herself, and drew herself up a little taller. 

“I will do just that… But you children are to remain here while I do so.”

A rambunctious burst of protest erupted from them all;

“But mother, we must go now!”

“There isn't time!”

“We must save Peter!”

But Mary held firm, closing the nursery door behind her and latching it from the outside.

Wendy and the boys stood dumbfounded; never before had their mother locked them in. John stepped forward and tried the door handle, in vain.

“I don't believe it. Whatever is wrong with her?”

“She really does hate Peter now, doesn't she.” Michael murmured. 

“Come on,” Wendy called to them all, almost brightly, as she marched across the room. The boys all stared after her in bewilderment, only beginning to comprehend her meaning as she hoisted open the window.

Chapter 21 

Mrs Darling paused a moment in the hallway, trying to settle the feeling of anguish that was overtaking her heart. Could her daughter be correct in her accusation? Could Mary have entrusted a child to the care of a violent man? Of course not; Sir Arton was a well-respected paediatrician, and he was not in the habit of murdering his young patients.

But then, Dr Leighton's words of concern echoed in her mind; “I am afraid, Mrs Darling, that I have serious reservations concerning Sir Arton's choice of treatment for Peter.”

Could it be true?

The fear and despair she felt in that moment, quickly morphed into annoyance, disbelief, and something like anger. She could not help but direct a little of this towards Wendy, and considering the girl's wayward behaviour that evening, Mary was compelled to turn back to the nursery door, and slide its bolt for the first time.

Straightening, she lightly touched her hands to her hair in an attempt to neaten it, then made for the stairs.

“Liza,” she called to the maid as she reached the front hall. The young woman soon appeared from the kitchen, her eyes heavy with fatigue after a long day of housework and cooking.

“Yes, ma'am?” She approached Mrs Darling casually, having had taken little notice of the raised voices that had come from the nursery only minutes before.

“I have put the children to bed. Please see to it that they do not leave the nursery again tonight.”

“Very good, ma'am. Only… I shall be off to my own bed soon enough, madam.” A slight pale concern had alighted on the maid's face, fearing the longing for her pillow would have to continue for even longer than she had expected.

“Yes, of course,” Mary was clearly distracted. “That is, unless I need to go out.”

“Go out, ma'am?” Liza's face fell even more.

“Hopefully not. I just need to make a telephone call first.” Walking to the instrument and picking up the receiver, Mary did not see the look of annoyance and frustration that darkened the maid's expression. Knowing her place, and being the first to keep herself in it, however, Liza held her tongue, and listened as her mistress spoke to the operator.

As she waited for her call to the hospital to connect, Mary gazed at nothing, her mind still reeling at the idea that she might be responsible for something so terrible. But before she could sink too deeply into anguish, a voice came through on the line;

“Hello, yes. Mrs Darling speaking. Could you please have my husband come to the telephone? I must speak with him. He is visiting a patient: Peter Pan… Yes, I am aware that it is too late for visiting hours, but he was accompanied by our doctor. Dr Leighton… Thank you.”

Feeling flustered at having to explain herself to whom ever had answered, Mary turned about in agitation, and was slightly more flustered still to behold the maid still watching her.

“Thank you, Liza. That will be all.”

Liza flinched at Mrs Darling's unusually harsh tone, fixed her employer with a scowl, which Mary failed to notice, and stomped back to the kitchen, grumbling under her breath.

At last, the voice on the other end of the line returned.

“Yes? What do you mean? He isn't there? Well… is Dr Leighton? I see. Please… could you tell me… how is the boy?”

At that moment, the front door before Mary flew open as George crashed through. 

“George! What on earth...” Telephone call forgotten, Mary replaced the receiver and approached her husband.

“Wendy?!” George looked about frantically as he called for his lost child.

“It's alright, George. Wendy is here. She is upstairs, safely in the nursery.”

Mr Darling looked into his wife's eyes, only now registering her presence. 

“Oh, thank God! I thought I had lost her.”

“I told her you would be beside yourself! Come and sit down...” She gently took his hand in her own, and led him into the Drawing Room. 

Once he had settled for a moment, in his favourite armchair, she pressed him for an explanation.

“She insisted on coming with us, Mary. I couldn't see the harm. She wanted to see Peter.”

“Well, I suppose you can see the harm now!”

George glanced up at her face, surprised at her sharp tone. “Yes, I suppose I can, in hindsight.”

From her kennel in the backyard, Nana started barking.

“How is Peter?” Mary looked down at her feet as she asked this, like an ashamed child. 

Mr Darling took a moment to measure his response. 

“He is… not well.”

“Wendy said he had been attacked.”

“By Sir Arton… yes.”

Mary's eyes snapped up to meet her husband's. “So it is true? Sir Arton?”

“I'm afraid so.”

“And you witnessed this?”

George heard the note of scepticism in her voice, and wished her could give her some other, more palatable explanation.

“Yes. I was there, Mary. We burst in on him trying to inject the boy with a lethal dose of some drug.”

Mary sat in contemplation for some moments, trying to comprehend what her husband's words meant.

“He is dead, then. Peter is dead?”

“No. Arton only had time to administer some of the dose. We pulled him away in time.”

Relief relaxed Mary's face a little, but her brow still furrowed with concern.

“He...” George hesitated, “He is not well, though, my dearest. He may still die. In fact, Leighton is almost sure of it.”

Reaching out to her husband for support, and grateful when he rose from his chair to kneel before her and take her hands in his, Mary shuddered as tears escaped her eyes and a pained gasp rose in her throat.

“We must go to him.” 

George nodded in agreement, and helped Mary to stand.

“Wait.” Mr Darling turned to Mary as she spoke, “We must take the children with us.”

He nodded again. “Very well.”

Chapter 22

Wendy leaned out of the open window, looking from the stars above her, to the stone yard below. It occurred to her then that this was the spot where her adventures with Peter Pan had begun; where she had stepped out into open air, away from humdrum normality, and on her way to the magic and beauty of Neverland.

“Be careful, Wendy.” Nibs stepped towards the girl as she stood perilously close to the edge.

“I will.” She replied, simply.

Brought back to the moment, and the task in hand, Wendy looked about for a way down. The tree that grew from the neighbouring garden reached across in front of the window, but it's nearest branch was a good three feet away; surely too far to jump, especially for the littlest ones. 

Glancing to her left, Wendy noticed the iron drainpipe the travelled from the roof-line above her, to the ground below; perfect. 

“Come on,” she signalled to the boys, stepping as close to the pipe as possible, and grasping it with her right hand.

“Wendy!” John put a hand on her shoulder to still her, “What about Michael and the twins?”

Wendy looked at the little boys in question. “They can do it.” she affirmed. “And if they don't want to, they can wait here… but the rest of us must go and find him.”

Nibs looked at her thoughtfully. “Find who? Peter?”

Wendy hesitated. She felt reluctant to share her plan with them, (if you could call it a plan)… but she supposed she would have to, sooner or later.

“No. Captain Hook.”

The other children's eyes widened in surprise, but words seemed to fail them. Before they could find their voices, Wendy had swung her leg around the drainpipe and let go of the window.

Wrapping herself around the iron pipe as tightly as she could, Wendy ignored the distance between herself and the stone garden beneath, and very slowly began her decent.

Nibs was quick to follow. Then Slightly. Then Curly. 

Despite their size, and John's misgivings, the twins were next to clamber out the window and latch onto the pipe, pushing and shoving each other perilously as they went.

John prepared to go next, but then turned to his youngest brother, “If you don't want to come, you can wait here. We won't be long,” he assured, seeing the worry on Michael's face.

“No...” uttered the boy, “I want to come. I can do it.” Michael's anxious tone did not match his words, but John nodded in support, and continued out through the open window.

Tootles gestured for Michael to go first, and the little boy took a deep breath to ready himself. But, leaning out as far as he dared, Michael found he could not reach the drainpipe. Straining his arms and stretching his fingertips, the gap between himself and the piping remained.

Seeing his struggle, Tootles offered help, “I'll hold onto your hand while you lean out.” 

Michael nodded his agreement, and took hold of Tootles' proffered hand.

Once Michael had taken hold of the drainpipe, he foolishly glanced down; the distance to the ground below seemed to stretch before his eyes, and his belly seemed to leap inside of him. 

“Hurry, Michael.” Tootles was growing impatient as the other boy remained fixed to one spot.

“I don't think I can,” was his whispered reply.

“You have to!”

By this time, Wendy had reached ground level, and was dusting off the front of her coat. Hearing the exchange going on above, she looked up to see Michael clinging statically to the iron drainpipe, and Tootles still at the nursery window.

“Hurry up, you two!” she called in a loud whisper.

“I think Michael's stuck.” called Tootles, a little too loudly.

“Shhh!” hissed the little girl. They couldn't afford to alert the grown ups.

As the other boys joined her in the yard, they all looked up at Michael, still unmoving two floors up.

“Maybe we should just leave them,” chimed in Nibs. 

Wendy felt bad about it, but was inclined to agree.

“Michael, if you're not coming, then climb back into the nursery.”

“I don't think I can!” 

“Oh, for goodness sake!” The little girl was feeling irritated, now; Time was of the essence, and there wasn't enough of it to spend rescuing Michael as well as Peter.

“Michael, if you don't start moving right now, we will leave you there.”

“No, Wendy!”

“Michael, we don't have time for this!”

She was rarely so impatient with her little brother, but he had chosen the worst time to make a fuss.

Breathing deeply to fight back the sobs and calm himself, Michael slowly lowered himself a little… then a little more.

With a sigh of relief, Tootles swung himself out of the window and began following Michael in his decent. 

When the little boy was almost at the bottom, John and Nibs rushed over to help him down, and the other boys clapped as Michael's feet met the stone slabs.

“Shhh!” urged Wendy again, dismayed at the noise they were making.

They all fell silent, save for the sound of Tootles' feet also hitting the ground, and the whining yawn of Nana, who had been sleeping, until now unnoticed, in her kennel in one corner of the yard.

The children held their breath as they beheld the Newfoundland shake the sleep from her eyes, and settle her gaze on them. After an anguished moment, Wendy quickly made for the wooden door that led from the yard to the alley beyond.

Nana's thundering barks spurred the boys to join her, and they all piled through before their parents were alerted by the fray. 

Making sure to shut the gate securely behind them for fear that Nana would surely follow if she could, Wendy then hurried along the alley towards the street, accompanied by her brothers. Once there, she paused; not entirely sure where to go next.

“Wendy… how are we supposed to find Hook?!” asked Slightly, trying to catch his breath after the excitement.

“I don't know,” she admitted, biting her lip, “But I think he has been watching us.”

“Watching us?” asked John, in a sceptical tone.

“Yes. Peter told me he saw him.”

“Saw Hook?!”

“Yes. I think he is nearby.”

“But how do you know?” pressed Slightly.

“I don't. I just hope he is.”

The boys looked at one another, confounded... but resolved to follow. 

Chapter 23

Leighton jerked up his head, thinking he had heard the boy stir. Stepping closer to the bed, where the child still lay, Leighton leaned down in the hope of catching any movement or sound that might convey that Peter was now conscious. But, alas, the boy was as still and silent as death; yet he lived.

Nurses bustled about the room; taking the child's temperature… checking his pulse… but they could do little more than attempt to keep their patient comfortable. Even Dr Leighton was at a loss at what to do now. It seemed as though Peter would need some kind of miracle to survive the overdose; it was somewhat of a miracle that he still drew breath now!

Turning away to gaze through the viewless window, Leighton fought back the anger he felt, not only towards Sir Arton, but towards himself; if only he had acted sooner. Sir Arton had so many juvenile patients, and countless numbers of them over the years… Leighton wondered how many others had suffered at his hands, either through incompetence or murderous intent. Had he actually killed children, as he had attempted to murder Peter? A shiver of horror rippled along Leighton's spine at the very thought of it. And how much of that suffering could he, Leighton, have prevented if he had just acted upon the concerns he had had with Sir Arton's conduct; he had held these doubts long before Peter had been entrusted into his care.

Again, Leighton thought he heard a sound; a murmur.

Looking back, over his shoulder, surprise and shock gripped him as he noticed the boy's eyes were open and blinking.

“Doctor!” The nurse's call affirmed what Leighton was seeing. 

The miracle had occurred; Peter was awake.

Chapter 24

“George!” Mary's terrified cry filled the house as she dashed from the nursery to the landing.

“What is it? What's wrong?!” George appeared at the bottom of the stairs, looking up at the fearful face of his wife above, supporting herself on the mahogany stair-rail.

“They have gone,” her heart thundered in her chest as she struggled to calm the desperate worry overwhelming her mind, “The children have gone!”

“Gone? What do you mean, 'gone'? Where could they have gone?” 

“I don't know! I locked them in. They couldn't have gotten out.” Mary muttered the last almost to herself, not noticing the shock and confusion that now filled her husband's face.

“You locked them in? You've never locked them in before.”

His words brought her back to the moment.

“I had to, George! Wendy was insistent on leaving again, and taking the boys with her. Could you imagine… all of them wondering the city streets alone at this hour?!”

Mr Darling's expression softened towards his wife; her actions were justified, however uncharacteristic.

“But,” he continued, “if you had locked them in, how do they get out? There's no other way in and out save the win...” Abandoning his sentence mid-word, Mr Darling instead bounded up the staircase, past his wife, and into the deserted nursery. Mary followed, and they both froze as they beheld the wide-open window.

“Surely not.” reasoned George.

Chapter 25

Wendy buried her ice-cold hands deeper into her coat pockets. If only she had thought to bring her gloves; the night air was painfully chill on her bare skin. The boys were not faring much better, she knew... but, to their credit, none of them had complained; there was something far more important at stake than their personal comfort; the life of their friend.

“I think we should split up.” Wendy announced.

She was met with looks of concern.

“I don't think that's a good idea, Wendy,” ventured John, “It could be dangerous out here in the middle of the night.”

“It's dangerous out here in the middle of the day!” pointed out Slightly. “I think we should go back.”

His suggestion was met with murmurs of approval, but none would act without Wendy's blessing.

“We can't go back now. Peter needs help.”

“And you think he'll get that from Hook?!” Curly could not help but scoff.

“No… He will get it from us. But Hook is… necessary.”

“For what?”

“We need to get Peter home… to Neverland. And Captain Hook has the means to do that.”

“He also has the means to gut us all,” piped up Slightly.

“And the inclination,” added John.

Wendy felt the hair on her neck bristle with annoyance as all the boys nodded in agreement.

“All right, then…” she declared, marching off ahead of them, “You all go back. I'll find Hook myself.” 

“Wendy… Don't be like that!”

“We're sorry!”

Trotting to catch up with the determined girl, Nibs grabbed Wendy by the hand, and she turned to him.

“Shouldn't we try at the hospital?” he suggested, “If Hook is here, he'll probably stay close to Peter.”

Wendy paused to consider the boy before her; he certainly had a point. Why else would Captain Hook be in London, if not for Peter Pan. Why he had not shown himself, or attacked Peter, Wendy could not fathom… but surely he would keep closer to Peter than to anyone else. 

“Very well,” she conceded, “Let's go to the hospital, and search there first.”

Turning in the direction of the main road, the children hurried onwards. None of them noticed the figure standing in the entrance of a nearby alley, or the light that illuminated his face as he lit a cigar… the same light that glinted and reflected in the iron hook that appeared where his right hand should have been.

Chapter 26

Wendy realised she was holding her breath as the hospital grew nearer, and she had to remind herself to breath. The children were running now; dashing through the streets, ducking around the occasional adult, and swerving to avoid the few motor cars and carriages that still trundled along to their various destinations.

“This way… it's quicker!” called John, ducking into an alleyway that connected two streets.

The other children skidded to a halt before taking off again to follow… but they were quickly brought to a sudden stop once again as John bumped up against a large figure, and was knocked backwards, almost off his feet.

The adult turned eerily towards the children to reveal crooked teeth, a grizzled face, and empty eyes that seemed to pierce through their own.

“Eh…” His voice was guttural and moist, as if he was drowning in his own mucus, “What you kids playin' at?! No place or time for you to be out, gallivanting...”

The children were all transfixed with terror at this vagrant's appearance, and only reacted as his had roughly closed around John's arm; As John struggled to be free of the monster's grasp, his siblings hurried to his aid, trying to pull him away, or beat off the adult as they yelled and scream at him to let go!

The old cockney conceded, and released his hold on the boy. Watching the whole rabble of children race off down the alley, he shook his head in reservation and took another swig from his gin bottle.

What seemed like only a few minutes later, (although alcohol had muddled the passage of time), the old man was once again disturbed from his solitary drinking by the shouts of a gent and lady who were hurrying along the street, almost as quickly as the children had been. They were clearly distressed, even to his own intoxicated eyes.

“Wendy! Boys!”

“John! Wendy!”

Mary was beside herself with worry and guilt; she should never have let herself become so angry at her own daughter. Wendy was justifiably concerned about Peter, and Mary sorely regretted loosing her temper; she should not have begrudged Wendy and the boys wanting to help their friend. Now she and her husband were frantically searching for their darlings, desperately hoping to find them before anything terrible befell them; they might be run-over… or kidnapped… or attacked!

Mary screamed as an old, decrepit man with rotting teeth and filthy clothing suddenly appeared in front of her, far closer than she deemed gentlemanly. Immediately, George was in front of her, putting some distance between her and the unseemly vagrant.

“Away with you!” George demanded.

His words were met with an expression of surprise and derision from the shabby individual, who looked back and forth between Mary to George, but did not move.

Losing his nerve a little, George tried again to scare the fellow off, though the force was now conspicuously absent from his voice; “We have no money.”

At this, the man looked decidedly insulted, and George feared a more physical altercation… something that he was decidedly bad at, and terrified of.

Thankfully, the old man seemed to swallow his outrage, and spoke with a slurred but strong voice; “Might you be looking for some kids, Mrs?” he asked, addressing Mary.

She gazed at him in astonishment, words failing her for some moments before she regained her wits; “Yes! Yes, we are!”

The old fellow sniffed and eye-balled her for another moment, before continuing. “A whole gaggle o' kids scarpered off down that way, not five minutes past,” he declared, gesturing to the alley and looking proud of himself.

George and Mary exchanged a look of hope and relief, reassured that their children, (until recently at least), were unharmed and nearby. Then they both felt a nagging embarrassment at their initial impression of the man before them; although unkempt and slightly intoxicated, he had revealed himself to be a most decent an obliging man.

Mary beamed at him. “Thank you,” she said, taking his worn and grubby hand briefly in her own before hurrying to the alley he had indicated.

George gave a weak smile and hesitantly raised his hand in thanks… but thought better of, considering the man's filthy appearance. Instead, he gave an awkward wave, then ducked away to follow his wife.

The old man watched as the pretty woman and pompous bloke disappeared from sight, before turning his attention back to his bottle.

He failed to notice the other man, handsome, confident and imposing, inconspicuously follow the couple through the alley.

Chapter 27

The main lobby of the hospital was quiet now; only disturbed by a few patients that were well enough to be out of bed, and the occasional nurse or doctor, hurrying to their post or ambling homeward.

At the large reception desk sat the sour-faced nurse, made short-tempered by her long shift, and eagerly awaiting the prospect of hot tea and bed. The only saving grace of working so late was the peace and quiet; time to make headway on paperwork, and calm her nerves.

This calmness was shattered in an instant as the front doors of the hospital flew open with the crashing force of no less than nine retched children! The nurse looked up from her work in horror as the little devils began rushing across the marble foyer, towards the stairs.

“What, in heavens name, do you all think you are doing?!” she bellowed… and was even more enraged when her demand was ignored, and the hellions continued to ascend up the staircase, to the first floor.

They were so close… Wendy wouldn't let some stuffy receptionist stop her now. She led the boys up the first flight of steps, then the second, then a third. Peter had been roomed near the top of the building, and the exertion of running all the way to the hospital, and up three flights, was wearing them all out. But Wendy would not stop.

Unfortunately, their haste made them conspicuous, and it wasn't long before one of the wardens stepped into their path, arms extended, forcing the children to come to a halt.

“Where do you think your going?” he said, more calmly than the nurse at reception had done.

“Please,” Wendy panted, struggling to catch her breath, “We are going to see our friend. He is dying.”

At this, the warden's face softened, then a concerned expression furrowed his brow. 

“Where are your parents? Who brought you?”

With quick thinking, Nibs interrupted before Wendy could answer, “They're right behind us.”

The warden looked from Nibs to Wendy, pursing his lips as he considered the situation.

“And you know where you're going?” 

“Yes.” 

Another moment of scrutiny, and the warden conceded, “Alright, then… but no running!” he added, as the group immediately resumed their pace.

At his warning, they slow to a quick march… then resumed their mad dash as soon as the warden was out of sight.

After searching the room numbers, affixed to the many doors, Wendy saw the one she had been looking for, and tried the handle. It was unlocked, and the door inched open. 

Inside, the room was gloomy; only a single oil lamp illuminated the space. Finding the electrical switch, John flicked it on as the boys piled in behind their sister, and the room was flooded with light. And there, sat up in bed and shielding his eyes from the sudden glare, was Peter.

The boys cheered, and Wendy beamed as they gathered around their friend.

“Peter! You're not dead!”

The boy managed a half-smile, and Wendy realised that all was not well.

“Peter, are you alright?”

Closer now, she could see the grey pallor of his skin, and the limpness of his expression; he was clearly weak and unwell.

Nevertheless, Peter's features hardened in resoluteness, though his voice trembled with exhaustion “Wendy… I need to get out of here.”

Chapter 28

Wendy went to her friend, putting a reassuring hand on his arm; but he flinched and shied away from her touch, so she just smiled at him, pityingly.

“I want to go!” Peter repeated.

“I know, Peter. We'll help you. But...” Wendy hesitated, still unsure that her plan to search out Captain Hook was really the best idea.

Leaning close to the boy, she couldn't help lowering her voice, dramatically, “Peter… Have you seen Hook?”

Peter stared at her quizzically, his brow furrowed. 

“No...” he answered, after a moment's thought; but it sounded almost like a question.

Had he seen Hook? Had he ever seen him here, or had it all been in his mind? Since being trapped in that place – that hospital – Peter had also been trapped in a strange, perpetual fog. Whatever that doctor had been injecting him with, it addled his mind and kept his thoughts disordered. He could usually hide it well enough, but inside it felt like chaos.

He was almost convinced that it had been Captain Hook who he had seen standing outside his room that time… but then again, it had only been a silhouette; a shadow. Peter couldn't be sure. Perhaps it was all just wishful thinking. How odd, for Peter Pan to be wishing for Captain Hook to appear! The drugs had surely made him loose all his common sense! Hook would not save him. Hook wanted him dead.

“Wendy,” he continued, deciding on a better plan of action, “Can we leave? I want to go, now.”

“We will help you get out of here, Peter,” she repeated, reassuringly, “But just stay here, for now.” 

Wendy turned back to the door, and started making her way back out of the room.

“Wait! Where are you going?!” Peter sat bolt upright in the bed when he realised Wendy was heading back out to the hallway, and his head started swimming from the sudden movement.

Wendy gave him another apologetic smile, but continued; gesturing to the other boys to follow, she tried to give him an explanation, “We'll be right back. We just need to look around.”

“Look around? For what?!” demanded Peter. But Wendy and the boys had already hurried out, and Peter was left alone in the hospital room once again. 

And, after a few minutes, he began to doubt that Wendy and the boys had really been there at all.

Chapter 29

Doctor Leighton was dozing in one of the rough, old armchairs that littered the hospital staffroom. There were several staffrooms within the large building, but the one nearest to Peter's room was deserted and chilly. Leighton hadn't bothered to try lighting a fire; instead, he wrapped himself in a spare lab-coat, and curled up on the chair. Although hardly comfortable, he had drifted off almost immediately, such was his exhaustion. 

But then, he was woken by a noise.

Opening one bleary eye, he looked about, but saw no one. Yet, there it was again; the sound of running feet.

Heaving himself from the chair, letting the lab-coat fall to the floor, Leighton slowly approached the staffroom door. Hearing the sound of running once more, he pulled the door open and shot out into the corridor beyond, looking to his left just in time to see someone dart around the corner. 

Confused, curious, and annoyed in equal measure, Leighton straightened his waistcoat, and gave chase; marching towards the end of the corridor where he had seen, what had appeared to be, a child. 

 

The Lost Boys - so aptly named! - had completely lost Wendy and each other, rushing through the hospital’s quiet corridors, which seemed almost entirely deserted at that late hour.

None of them, either, had the faintest idea of what they were doing or where they were going; Wendy had said that they needed to find Captain Hook… but how were they to do that running about a hospital? Did Wendy suppose they would just bump into the pirate by chance? It seemed that was the plan.

Slightly was close to giving up. He had circled the same hospital wing at least twice, and everything looked the same; looking for Hook here was folly. Coming to a standstill, Slightly leaned against the wall to rest… then noticed the sound of footsteps. They were fast and heavy… not like a running boy, but like a running man!

Fear filled Slightly as thoughts of vicious pirates crowded his head. It might be Hook himself, chasing Slightly… coming to run him through! Hurriedly, the boy dashed off once more, away from the approaching sound of a fast paced adult.

John was not look for Captain Hook. He was looking for his sister. Heaven knew what she was playing at; Hook certainly wouldn’t be here, wondering around a well-populated hospital. Of course… it didn’t seem very well populated just then; there was hardly anybody about in this part of the hospital. It must be more of a convalescent wing, he thought to himself, cleverly. All the same, it probably wasn’t wise to hang about. 

Taking the next corner at a run, John ran smack-bang into Slightly. The boys’ heads collided, and each was knocked backwards, onto the floor.

“Ow! Slightly!” Both of them held their hands up to their injured foreheads and scowled at one another.

“Why don’t you watch where you’re going, John?!” Slightly moaned. 

Then, remembering the ominous footsteps of his pursuer, Slightly jumped to his feet.

“Come on, John! I heard someone following me. We’ve got to get out of here!”

“Following you? It was probably just one of the boys… or Wendy. Have you seen her?”

“No. And it wasn’t. It wasn’t any of our lot. It sounded like a grown up. I think it might be Hook!” 

“Bah! Don’t be soft.” John scoffed, but couldn’t help looking about nervously.

“You there!” A man’s voice boomed at them, and the two boys fled without looking, sudden terror driving them away as fast as they could go.

Leighton gave chase once more, determined that he would get to the bottom of this unruly behaviour.

 

Peter stared at the door, and listened. Perhaps Wendy and the boys hadn’t been there, in the room with him; perhaps he had imagined them… But, there! He heard the sounds again; running feet and startled cries of children. Surely these noises were not only in his head?!

Compelled by the sounds, seemingly so nearby, Peter tossed back the bedclothes, and made to get out of bed. He would find Wendy, and stop her.

But then the dizziness hit him, rolling through his head like a tempest. He resolved to fight it, but his muscle’s quivered with exhaustion, and the floor flew up to meet him.

 

Wendy was resolute; she would find the Pirate Captain, by hook or by crook. 

Navigating the labyrinthine corridors, she moved from one door to the next, peering through their glass, in search of the man who still haunted her dreams. James Hook seemed almost unreal to her, now; it had been such a long time since she had seen him, and he had always held a phantasmic quality in her mind. She knew he was deadly… but he was also reasonable. It seemed she had forgotten the countless lies he had told, and perilous traps he had set… and his unquenched thirst for vengeance. All she thought of was Peter. Hook was his only hope of getting home.

She took little notice of the shouts and calls of the boys; she was too focussed on her search. Occasionally, one or two of them would dash into view, and away again, running far too quickly to conduct a thorough search. She had become a little more meticulous. Hook could be anywhere… and nowhere.

She sighed. Perhaps this was all folly. John certainly thought so… and the other boys too, she shouldn’t wonder. They were just playing along to gratify her. But it was all no use. Peter was going to die. 

Fear and grief brought Wendy to a sudden, painful standstill as the enormity of it hit her; Peter was going to die. 

He was awake, but the doctor had said… “there is not much more that can be done… a fatal dose.” If she couldn’t get him back to the healing powers of Neverland, he would perish.

She stared at the polished floor, lost in despair. But then a shadow fell over her, and her view was filled with the black, buckled boots of a buccaneer. 

Gasping as she rose her gaze, Wendy’s eyes were met by the piercing, forget-me-not blue of Captain Hook’s own.

Chapter 30

The nurse on reception looked up, aghast, at the sound of the main doors crashing open. George and Mary sped through them in such haste that the doors flung back, hitting the wall. 

The anxious parents proceeded to dash through the lobby, and up the grand staircase… but they skidded to a halt as a most angry looking nurse stepped into their path, her eyes shooting daggers. 

“How dare you burst in here, making such noise! This is a hospital!”

George’s mouth opened and closed like a cod, so startled by this new obstacle that words failed him.

“It is one thing for children to make such a display of themselves… but grown, otherwise-respectable adults?!”

Mr and Mrs Darling glanced at one another.

“Children? Do you mean, you saw some children come here?”

“Never, in all my years, have I seen such unruly, outrageous behaviour!”

Mary didn’t wait to hear any more; taking her husband’s hand, she ducked past the Nurse, and pulled George up the stairs after her, in search of their children.

Wendy’s expression was a mirror of what her father’s had been; mouth open in surprise as she beheld Captain James Hook, smirking down at her.

“Hook!”

“Wendy.” 

His voice was a purr. Wendy swallowed her fear, and held his gaze.

“I hear you have been looking for me.”

The little girl frowned. “How did you know that?”

“I’ve been watching you, Wendy.”

Hook continued to smile eerily as he glanced about. “Where is Peter?”

Wendy’s eyes widened, and her heart pounded. This was why she had been searching for Hook… so he could take Peter back to Neverland with him… But, now it came to it, Wendy couldn’t help feeling like a traitor, betraying Peter’s location to his sworn enemy. But what else could she do?

“Before I tell you,” She tried to keep her voice from wavering, “You must promise... you must swear not to hurt him.”

James Hook considered the girl in front of him; so brave… so trusting… so gullible.

“I swear it.”

“Swear you will not hurt him... on the grave of your mother.” 

It was now Hook’s mouth that fell open in surprise. Obviously, Wendy had been giving this a lot of thought.

“Why are you so willing to take me to him, Wendy? Why have you been searching for me?”

Wendy hesitated, reluctant to reveal Peter’s weakness… But Hook would have to find out, sooner or later.

“Peter is sick. He’s dying.” 

The captain raised his eyebrows. “So, you want me… to save him?!”

Wendy scowled at the man as he reared back with laughter. “You can’t be serious?!”

“If you don’t take Peter home to Neverland, he could die!”

“If I get hold of him, he surely will die!”

Wendy stared at the man, and Hook became uncomfortable under her incredulous gaze.

“What?!” Hook demanded, “Does that shock you?”

“You would kill a sick child?!”

Hook paused.

“Bad form.”

The words pierced his mind. Damn this constant battle within himself; his unending fear of ‘bad form’. Why did it vex him, so? Pan knew how to manipulate Hook’s cultured civility… and now Wendy was doing the same. He appraised her once more.

“You would really entrust the boy to my care? You would have me spirit your precious Peter away?”

“If you swear you will not hurt him; that you will return him to Neverland, and release him into the care of Tiger Lilly and her people.”

Man and girl held each other’s gaze for several, tense moments…

“Very well. I swear it.”

Wendy scowled.

“Swear it fully, on your mother’s grave.”

Hook sighed, angrily.

“I swear, on the memory of my dear mother, that I – James Hook – will not harm Peter Pan until he is well, and in the care of the natives.”

Chapter 31

John had tried to ignore the splitting pain in his side, but he could do so no longer. Jogging to a halt, and grasping his torso with one had, he bent forward, attempting to catch his breath.

“It’s no good, Slightly… I can’t...”

Slightly had slowed when he noticed John stop, and had turned to see what was wrong.

“You have to, John. It could be pirates!”

“There aren’t any pirates here! We’re in a hospital, in the middle of London!”

Slightly took a moment to absorb the logic of this. 

“But, Wendy said...”

“Wendy’s wrong! She’s just being silly because she’s upset. Captain Hook is not here!”

“Then…” Slightly continued to think, “Then, who was chasing us?”

“I don’t know. But it wasn’t a pirate.”

“Then… why were you running?”

“Oh, shut up, Slightly!”

“YOU TWO!”

Both boys jumped at the shout, and looked at each other; fear dominating their expressions. Neither could bring himself to look up at the man - the pirate?! - approaching.

Dr Leighton was relieved that his targets had stopped. He held a hand over his booming heart, and tried to slow his laboured breathing. Coming to a complete halt next to the two boys, he recognised them as two of the Darling children.

“What on earth do you boys think you are doing?! Running about a hospital like wild animals!”

“Doctor Leighton! We’re sorry… we thought...”

“No. You didn’t think. That’s the problem.”

The boys looked down in shame, unable to resist the effect of an adult’s scolding, and Leighton softened.

“I suppose you boys are here to see Peter.”

John and Slightly looked up at him, hopefully. “But why have your parents brought you here so late at night?”

Both boys, once again, looked ashamed.

“I see.” 

Mr and Mrs Darling must be beside themselves with worry. But Leighton would telephone, as soon as he had these boys somewhere more secure.

“Come on… I’ll take you to your friend.” 

Leighton turned the boys in the direction of Peter’s room, but did not notice John surreptitiously kick Slightly in the shin when he began to object.

“PETER!”

Seeing their friend lying in a heap at the side of the bed, Slightly and John ran to Peter’s aid, with Dr Leighton close behind.

“Be careful, boys! Give him some room.” The two children complied, and backed away so Leighton could scoop Peter up, and lie him back down on the bed.

“Peter? Can you hear me? It’s Doctor Leighton, Peter.” 

The boy’s eyelids fluttered, and a melancholy grown escaped him as he regained consciousness. Leighton felt the child’s forehead; he had a temperature.

John and Slightly stared at the pale, weakened form of their leader, and realised why Wendy had been so full of concern for him; Peter looked awful.

“Is he going to die?” 

Leighton turned to Slightly, in dismay, “No, young man. He’ll be fine.”

Leighton did not sound convincing.

In the next moment, the doorway was filled with more children. The other Lost Boys, and Michael, had grown weary of searching for Captain Hook… and more than a little frightened at the prospect of actually succeeding!

“Boys! Any luck?” 

“No. No sign of him any where.”

“Or Wendy, neither.”

All eyes turned as Peter sat up in bed, in a fit of coughing.

“Peter, are you alright?!”

“Leave him alone, Tootles.”

“I was only asking!”

“He looks terrible… Ow!”

“Shut it, Curly!”

“Boys! That’s enough!” Leighton turned to them, “Where are your parents?”

As if on cue, George and Mary Darling appeared behind them.

“Children! Where have you been?! We were worried sick!” Mary flew down on top of them, embracing as many of the boys in a hug as she could.

“We’re sorry, mother… but we wanted to help Peter.”

Looking up at the boy in the bed, Mary felt a painful flash of memory; of hands around her neck… But the boy before her was ashen-grey, and downcast, and she felt pity for him rise up from within.

But then she thought of her daughter.

“Where is Wendy?” 

The boys shrugged and looked at their feet.

“John! Where is your sister?!”

“I haven’t seen her. Not since we split up.”

Peter looked up at John as the boy’s words sunk in. Wendy was missing.

“You split up!” Mr Darling was incredulous. “What did you split up for?! Don’t you know it could be dangerous?!”

John hesitated. “We… Wendy thought we would find him quicker if we separated.” 

“Find who?!”

“Captain Hook.”

The adults just looked at John blankly, but Peter’s expression was filled with dismay.

“No! John! You have to stop her!”

Leighton and George ran to Peter’s side, as the boy, once again, attempted to leave his bed. Both men grabbed him, and gently pushed him back down.

“You must rest, Peter.”

“Listen to Doctor Leighton, Peter… he’s trying to help.”

Peter frowned, and cocked his head at Mr Darling; why was he suddenly trying to be nice?

“Father! Mother!”

All eyes turned to see Wendy, standing in the doorway.

“Wendy! We’ve been so worried!” Mrs Darling made to go to her daughter… but stopped as the doorway behind Wendy was filled with a dark and imposing figure.

“Wendy...” Peter whispered, as he beheld the pirate-captain, “No...”

Chapter 32

Captain Hook smiled at his young enemy. Peter was weak and helpless; how wonderful!

“Hello, Peter. How are you?”

The look of pure shock and fear on the child’s face filled Hook with glee. How he loved to torment that brat!

“Wendy… Who is this?” George had inexplicably felt cold dread as soon as he laid eyes on the sinister gentleman before him, but did not want to show fear or weakness in front of him. 

“It’s Captain Hook,” interjected John, his eyes full of disbelief. Wendy had actually found him!

“Can I be of assistance, sir?” Hook tore his eyes away from Peter and stared menacingly at Leighton.

“Not really,” he purred, “I’ve just come for the boy.”

“I beg your pardon?!” 

“Dr Leighton… Mother… Father...” Everyone looked at Wendy as she spoke, except for Hook, who had resumed his hungry gaze towards Peter.

“Peter needs to go home. If he doesn’t, he could die. Captain Hook has promised to take him there, safely.”

Peter felt his stomach flip as the Captain grinned at him.

“Wendy...” Leighton went to the girl, and knelt before her, “Peter is too ill to move. He can’t travel anywhere.”

“That’s the reason he must go! Don’t you see?! Where he lives… he can get better. He’ll be stronger there.” 

Leighton frowned at her, not understanding. 

“Wendy...” Nibs pulled her away, his brows furrowed in concern. “Hook can’t be trusted.”

“He’s right, Wendy,” John looked into his sister’s eyes, meaningfully. “Hook will kill him.”

“No… I have his sworn promise. He won’t hurt Peter. He is going to take him to Tiger Lily.”

Oh, don’t be so foolish, Wendy! Hook is a liar! Peter will never make it back to Neverland alive.”

Doubt began to creep back into the little girl’s mind, and she looked over to where Peter still sat on the bed. His expression was fearful, and he looked back at her in dismay.

“Peter… I couldn’t think of any other way. Hook can take you home.”

“Indeed, I can. Come, lad...” The Captain began to stride towards the bed, and Peter could not help but scurry back in fear.

“That’s far enough!” Leighton stepped into Hooks path, halting his with a hand on the Captain’s chest. Hook looked down at it, then at Leighton’s face, with disgust.

“Step aside, sir; I am not fond of harming educated men.”

Dr Leighton stood firm, and held the Captain’s gaze.

For a beat, nobody breathed.

Then the iron claw came down across Leighton’s arm, and the doctor yelled out in pain.

“Hook! Stop!” 

Peter knelt up on the bed as Leighton grasped his injured arm, and Mary and George ran to his side.

“Shall we go, then, Peter… or will I have to shed more blood first?”

“Captain Hook! How could you?! You promised!”

Turning to look at Wendy’s red, tear-stained face, Hook smiled. 

“I promised not to harm Peter. Nothing was said about anybody else.”

Wendy knew, then, that she had made a terrible mistake.

“Please...” She caught Peter’s eye, and held his gaze, beseechingly, “I’m sorry…”

Drawing his sword, Hook gave a piercing whistle, and, to the children’s horror, and the other adult’s dismay, no less than eight burly pirates entered the room. 

“Mates… Master Pan will be sailing with us, but he needs a little encouragement. Let’s help him aboard.”

The sea-dogs chuckled and jeered as the drew their own weapons, and pointed them at the helpless group before them.

Before he could stop himself, George Darling stood before James Hook, shielding his wife and children from Hook and his crew.

“You will not touch a hair on that boy’s head.”

“Father! No!” Wendy was filled with fear for her father, while Peter stared at him in amazement; perplexed at his sudden protectiveness towards him.

Hook merely grinned again, then backhanded George with his good hand. George went sprawling to the floor, and was dragged to his feet and held by two of Hook’s men. Leighton, too, was grabbed up and restrained, leaving Mary standing alone between Hook and the children.

“Mrs Darling...” the Captain mused, “Mary, isn’t it”

“Mrs Darling, if you don’t mind,” she said, through ground teeth.

“I prefer ‘Mary’.”

Mary’s mouth fell open at the man’s audacity.

“How dare you, sir?!”

“I’ve had a lot of practise.”

Stepping forward, suddenly, and grabbing her waist, Hook pulled Mary to him, and pressed his lips against hers, aggressively.

Ignoring the shouts of the husband, squeals of the children, and Mary’s own resistance, Hook pressed harder, invigorated by the taste and smell of a fine woman.

Peter, driven by anger, and ignoring his own body’s weakness, shot from the bed and rushed between Hook and Wendy’s mother, pushing the pirate captain away as he did so. 

Hook stumbled backwards from the force, then beheld the boy, standing determinedly before him, arms spread out protectively, shielding the woman.

Mary wiped her mouth with the back of her hand in disgust, leaning against the bed for support and hugging her daughter close when Wendy ran to her. 

Then she looked at Peter; the weak and sick boy who had come to her aid; the boy she had put in this dreadful situation in the first place. She was filled with guilt.

“Leave her alone, Hook!” Peter stared daggers at the man before him. The boy was terrified, but wouldn’t let it show.

“Very well, boy.” Peter blinked in surprise; had Hook just taken an order?!

Pan fidgeted anxiously as Hook knelt down before him; why was he letting his guard down. It seemed Hook had seen through Peter’s attempts to hide his weakness.

“Would you like to go home, Peter?” 

Peter looked dumbstruck, and Hook smiled at his confused expression.

“Would you like to go back to Neverland.” 

At the name of his island, Peter’s mind filled with countless memories of warm summer days, nights of dancing with the Indians, and games with Lost Boys and mermaids… but those memories were hazy now… and distant.

“Peter, no!” Both man and boy looked at Wendy, “I’m sorry I brought Hook here. I’m sorry I betrayed you! Don’t listen to him, Peter. I was wrong; he’ll kill you!”

Peter turned back to the captain, who leaned in close to him. Peter fought the urge to back away.

“Peter… come with me now, and no one else will get hurt.”

Peter stared at Hook, as the man’s words sunk in. He was trapped.

“Peter, don’t!”

“If I agree to go with you...” Peter ignored Wendy’s pleas, “… do you swear to let everyone leave? Wendy… Her parents… all the boys. And the doctor.” 

Hook chuckled to himself; this brat was in no position to bargain! But Hook was feeling generous, and decided to humour him.

“Very well, Peter. Come with me, and they will all go free. You have my word.” He bowed his head theatrically.

Peter didn’t trust Hook’s word one jot… but what choice did he have.

Seeing this written all over his face, Wendy grabbed hold of his arm and made him look at her. “Peter, don’t. I was wrong. He won’t keep his word. He’ll kill you.”

Peter gently wiped the tears off Wendy’s cheeks, and smiled at her, meekly.

“I would rather die in Neverland tomorrow, than live here, and grow up.”

Wendy stared into Peter’s eyes, and knew she would not be able to save him. Fighting back fresh sobs, she grabbed him in an embrace.

Looking down at Peter and Wendy’s farewell-hug, Hook grimaced and rolled his eyes in exasperation.

“Yes, yes, yes… Enough, Pan! Let’s go.” Peter pulled away, and looked at Wendy once more. The little girl looked back, her eyes filled with despair.

“Goodbye.”

(Chapter 33)

Epilogue

Wendy had watched, desperately, as Peter had turned from her, and taken Captain Hook’s one good hand. It had been such a perplexing image; man and boy… sworn enemies… walking hand in hand, away from her. 

She had tried to follow… tried to pull Peter back… but Hook’s men moved in front of her, and Wendy could do nothing but watch as the lot of them, Hook and Peter included, approached the window. 

Alf Mason had gone ahead, to open it for his Captain, and Wendy watched on as Hook gave a signal into the encompassing night.

Mary, George, and Dr Leighton had obviously been confused to see Hook lead his men and the boy to the window, instead of the door... and startled to see a rope ladder appear from above. Although they had been released by the pirates, the adults seemed too dazed to move; Leighton and George were sat on the floor, and Mary stood, motionless, by the bed. But all of them watched, and Mary wore the same beseeching expression as her daughter; filled with fear for Peter’s well-being.

A tear rolled down Wendy’s face as her friend turned back to look at her. Peter had smiled; a weak, melancholic smile. He had meant to reassure her, Wendy knew… but that smile had made her heart break. Peter was in terrible danger, and it was all her fault.

But she hadn’t done anything to save him; she had just let him go.

That had been years ago.

Dr Leighton had succeeded Sir Arton in his role as Chief of Paediatric Medicine at the hospital, after Sir Arton had been offered ‘early retirement’ as a result of his ‘unique and uncharacteristic episode’. 

Although he had been deeply concerned after his young patient had, essentially, been kidnapped… he was at a loss as to what to do. Wendy and the other boys had tried to explain… about Neverland, and Captain Hook… but Leighton couldn’t quite grasp such fantastical notions. And, after several weeks of getting nowhere, Leighton had eventually given up. Peter had vanished. 

Leighton would have gone to the police himself… were it not for what he had seen when he looked from the window of what had been Peter’s room, after the rope ladder had been hoisted from view; everyone who remained in that room – man, woman, and child – had rushed to the window in time to see the huge form of the Jolly Roger, a fine Spanish Galleon, ascend through the cloud-cover, and disappear from sight.

Leighton doubted the police would be impressed with that small detail; the boy was last seen boarding a flying pirate ship in the middle of London.

No… he would just have to forget the entire incident. And, in time, he did.

Mary Darling, on the other hand, could not forget. For countless nights after, she had wept for the child she felt she had lost; the boy she had treated so coldly. The boy she had been unable to forgive, until it was too late. And it was she who had not deserved forgiveness; putting him in the hands of a dangerous doctor… forcing him to stay in that hospital… abandoning him, and keeping him from his friends. She, surely, was the villain of this piece. 

Yes, she had forgiven Peter… but she never could quite forgive herself. For the rest of her life, she never doubted another child again.

Her husband, too, felt guilt at his treatment of the boy; for years after, George hoped Peter might suddenly return, as inexplicably as he had before. But no… George would not be able to atone so easily, and he was haunted by the wrongs he had done to that child.

Wendy never knew what became of Peter; whether he was alive or dead. She liked to think that Captain Hook would have kept his word, and released Peter into the care of the Indians… but it seemed like a slim hope. 

The only thought that consoled her, in the years after, was that Peter did not belong in her world; he needed Neverland, like he needed air. He could not be caged; he needed to be free. And, at least, she had given him that chance of freedom.

After all… All children, except one, grow up.


End file.
